Testament
by M C Pehrson
Summary: Story # 49 This 9 chapter novelette is a tale of betrayal and redemption. No longer a member of Starfleet, Spock takes on occasional diplomatic assignments for the Federation-but when dramatic change comes to Vulcan, he reacts on a personal level and is drawn into history's current. The decisions that await him will alter his life forever. (Warning: Character death)
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

The traffic had made Sparn late. In all his years on Vulcan he had never seen so many cars traveling the outskirts of Tareel, speeding along the roadways. And overhead, skimmers in abundance whined incessantly, all heading in the same direction.

 _Fools,_ he thought with icy contempt, _out to catch a glimpse of the crazy one—and on such a day as this, mid-Belaar, with the heat of Eridani enough to sear even a dark Vulcan's skin._

Sparn arrived late at his destination. With a sigh he climbed out of his air-conditioned truck and quickly powered up the retrieval equipment mounted behind the cab. He pulled on a pair of heat-resistant gloves before touching the nozzle assembly. Even so, the long handle nearly burned him as he carried it into the customer's back garden with the thick cord reeling out behind him. Once inside, he concentrated on the handle's sensor array. A sandclaw had dragged a family pet to its death here beneath the shifting red sand. Its barbed tentacles could easily do the same to a man.

Sparn preferred almost any kind of retrieval to this, but it paid well—so well that he could have hired an assistant, but he preferred keeping all the profit for himself. At one time he had offered his nephew a position, knowing that the son of his illustrious brother Sarek would never accept it, despite being newly released from a Starfleet prison, and unemployed.

Sparn's lips pressed into a taut, bitter line, and he batted an annoying insect from his silver hair. The sun beat down mercilessly.

No, this sort of work was too lowly for the likes of Ambassador Sarek and his halfbreed son Spock. Since leaving prison, Spock had somehow recovered his reputation and gone on to receive new honors in the service of Starfleet. Once more the names of Sarek and Spock had been lauded in news reports. Sparn found the situation galling.

A sensor fluctuation drew his attention. His pulse quickened as he centered the broad nozzle on the ground and flipped a switch. As the unit chewed away at the sand, red dust sifted up, settling on his clothes and skin, making him cough.

Suddenly a clawed tentacle thrust from the ground and brushed his left boot. Startled, Sparn leaped back, lost his hold on the vibrating handle, and fell. The nozzle slammed into the side of the house. Stone chips narrowly missed his eyes as he scrambled away from the sandclaw and retrieved the unit.

Confused by so much motion, the sandclaw's tentacle stirred a slow, circular pattern in the sand. Sparn dropped the nozzle over it, changed a setting, and the system automatically transferred the sandclaw into the truck's storage tank.

Sparn switched off the unit and stood trembling. Always before, the sandclaws had sought out the churning nozzle. Why had this one gone after his foot instead? Another half inch and _he_ would have made the news.

Returning to his truck, he reeled in the cord. He could hear the sandclaw frantically slapping the inside of the tank, and the terrified shrieks of the khree pups he had captured from another yard earlier in the day. He almost pitied the doomed khree pups. According to environmental law, they could not share the tank with a predator. He should have relocated the khree before this stop, but the traffic had been so heavy and he was running late. And it would not be the first time he had flouted the retrieval regulations.

He climbed into the cab and started the motor. As the truck rose a few inches above the roadbed, its air conditioner quickly reduced the interior temperature to a cool 100 degrees. Feeling somewhat refreshed, he put the truck into motion and headed for the relocation site at the edge of the safebelt. But upon reaching the speedway intersection, he found it was impossible to turn left. The traffic streaming into Tareel had worsened. No one was obeying the lane assignments. He watched in disbelief as one car after another illegally swept through the intersection at improper altitudes. Had all of Vulcan gone mad?

By now there were other vehicles piling up behind him. Horns sounded in a shameful display of impatience. Sparn saw no choice but to join the traffic driving into Tareel. The sandclaw would die in the tank and send up a horrible stench, but at least he would be home, out of the heat, away from all this insanity.

He eased the throttle open. The truck was edging into the flow of traffic when the motor stalled and the truck dropped to the ground with jarring force. Sparn pressed the ignition. Nothing happened. He glanced at the fuel readout. A little more than half. The heat in the cab was already stifling.

With an ancient curse on his lips, he stepped out onto the blistering roadway and lifted the truck's hood. As he studied the engine compartment, cars flowed around him and sped on. Skimmers passed overhead, creating a steady, hot breeze.

Through the course of his life Sparn had dabbled in many professions, but he was not a mechanic. He had begun his working career as a teacher. It had been decades since his restlessness sent him from the classroom, but he still thought of himself as a highly educated historian and therefore above all the menial business ventures he had later undertaken.

Another car pulled around his truck and came to a stop on the shoulder. Four young men stepped out, wearing the usual sand boots and pale summer clothing.

"Sir, do you need assistance?" asked the youngest Vulcan.

"It stopped suddenly," Sparn said, stepping aside.

His attention was drawn to the tallest of the group. The man appeared to be around forty years of age, blue-eyed with light brown hair combed away from his forehead. It was an uncommon style and Sparn did not approve of it, yet there was a handsome nobility to this stranger.

The Vulcan spoke. "Sorel, do what you can."

"As you say, Yanash," replied the younger man.

 _Yanash? This was Yanash?_

Sparn stared at the fine-looking Vulcan and felt a sense of outrage begin to grow. Eridani's heat baked him, the traffic continued to swirl by, and still he stared. "You!" he said at last, curtly gesturing at the scene around them. "You are responsible for all this disorder!"

Yanash seemed unperturbed. "They follow me everywhere. They are so hungry…"

"Then have them go home and eat," Sparn retorted.

Yanash turned and looked sadly at the passing vehicles. "They seek the food that only I can give them."

"What food it that?" Sparn said with scorn. He struggled to contain his anger. "Is it true that you eat animal flesh?"

Behind him, the truck started. Sorel closed the hood, and all but Yanash returned to their car. Yanash gazed upon Sparn and he felt as if the strange blue eyes were probing the depths of his heart.

"Come," Yanash invited, "see for yourself. Bring your bondmate."

"My bondmate…is no longer with me," Sparn said in a voice hushed with pain. Let him draw his own conclusions. Let him think she was dead.

Yanash spoke softly. "It is true that you have no bondmate living at home, for this past year she left you and is considering a divorce."

Sparn was stunned to hear his secret shame spoken aloud. Not even his brother knew that T'Prinka's departure was likely permanent.

Time seemed to stand still as Yanash continued in the same kindly voice. "She had her fill of your cold, demanding ways…but now I will show you a better way. Come, Sparn. Follow me."

Somehow Sparn was in his truck, following, before he realized that Yanash had called him by name.

oooo

The sound of three melodious tones drew Spock's attention to the announcement that followed. "Approaching the Sy-Don Corridor, sir."

Alone in the passenger compartment, Spock turned off his datapadd and returned it to his valise. Then he stood and adjusted his civilian suit before entering the cockpit, where he sat down beside the pilot. Ensign Murphy was barely twenty-four, and though Spock was aware of the young man's excellent record, he sometimes felt more comfortable here by the controls.

Twin planets loomed in the viewscreen—Sydok, as rich and verdant as Earth, and parched Vulcan-like Donari which would host tomorrow's meeting of the Sy-Don Security Council.

As Murphy prepared their Donari approach, Spock found his thoughts turning to his eldest daughter on Sydok. T'Beth was thirty now; though they regularly communicated by subspace coms, they had not been together in two years. At the council she would be working in her usual role of cultural advisor. Later he would take time to visit her Sy home, but there was another idea that had been forming for some time, and now it returned to him in force. His courier was arriving hours ahead of schedule, and at T'Beth's residence evening would scarcely have begun. Vulcans did not normally "drop in unannounced", but here was an opportunity to catch her unawares and determine the veracity of troubling rumors that had persisted for years.

Decisively Spock said, "Change of course. We are landing on Sydok, at the home of Jondar Jo-Ree. I will lay in the coordinates."

Murphy swung around and gaped at him. "Sir? Land at a private home? Not a spaceport?"

"He has a small landing facility."

"But sir. Those aren't my orders…"

Spock found it simplest just to take the controls himself. Twenty minutes later he disembarked on a dark grassy knoll overlooking the parliamentarian's two-story house. A light rain was falling. Donning a hooded cloak, he make his way down to the brightly lit porch.

As he reached for the door chime his sensitive hearing caught the sound of voices—Jo-Ree's deep tones, T'Beth, and then…a child's laughter. For an instant he hesitated, finger to the button, his emotions rioting. Then from inside the home, more laughter…and he knew why it must be now, like this, without warning. For far too long he had denied his mounting suspicions.

Preparing himself, Spock rang the chime.

Silence fell over the house. Then footsteps approached and the door swung open, releasing an agreeable scent of food. For a split second T'Beth looked at him without recognition. Then Spock pulled back his hood and her jaw dropped.

"Father!" she gasped.

To Spock, it seemed more an expression of horror than one of greeting. "Yes, T'Beth," he said, watching her reactions closely, hoping he was wrong about them and about her.

She did not immediately invite him into the house. Looking shaken, she glanced over her shoulder and called to Jo-Ree in an unnatural voice. "Grandfather—it's Spock!"

Jo-Ree stepped into the entryway, a small golden-haired girl at his side.

"Grandfather!" T'Beth cried out, openly distressed.

"No," Jo-Ree said firmly. "No more, my child. It is best."

T'Beth glanced once more at Spock, tears flowing freely down her anguished face. Then her head dropped and she rushed out of sight.

A small voice asked, "Who's dat? What's the matter with Mommy?"

Silent and aching, Spock gazed at the lovely child, then turned and walked back up the hill.

oooo

Tareel Temple was filled to capacity with a crowd that overflowed into the surrounding parkland. Perhaps some, like Sparn, were only there out of curiosity, but he was disturbed by the hungering look in many of the Vulcan eyes.

Sparn sat with Yanash's little retinue at the base of the speaker's platform. An expectant hush fell over the assembly as Yanash walked to the lectern.

"Dear children," Yanash began, lifting his long arms in an inclusive gesture.

Sparn felt insulted by the peculiar form of address. Many in the audience were far older than Yanash. Why did no one object to being called a child? What was this strange power Yanash held over people? Where did it come from? Sparn could find no explanation in the few facts he knew about the man's background. It was said that his mother was already pregnant when she bonded with an elderly Vulcan beyond the age of pon farr. Yanash's education was unremarkable, even lacking, by the highest Vulcan standards. He had worked as a simple computer technician until he came out of the Devil's Anvil and began teaching—without credentials of any kind. And most extraordinary of all, people _listened!_

Taking stock of his surroundings, Sparn realized that he was no different from the rest of this crowd. He, too, found himself fascinated by Yanash and his unorthodox teachings, even when they distressed him.

"Surak taught meditation as a path to enlightenment," Yanash was saying. "You have reduced it to an exercise for soothing your restless minds. Always, in all things, the Vulcan mind is made paramount. I tell you, your minds are full but your souls are empty…because you have forgotten your God and made idols of your own intellect."

A murmuring rose from the audience. Sparn was too stunned by Yanash's declaration to react, but the temple priest stepped forward. "You speak of souls. _Show_ me a soul. You speak of a god as if you know him. " Icily he said, "Surak saved Vulcan through his doctrine of logic. There is no other path for a son of Vulcan. Or do you advocate a return to religious myths and savagery?"

Yanash lifted a hand, finger pointing upward, far beyond the temple's high ceiling. "What I advocate is a return to the God whom you call The Source." The finger came down and targeted the emotionless priest. "Or would you deny that your logic has a Source?"

The priest was silent.

"I have not come to cast aside logic," Yanash said in a gentler tone. "I have not come to abolish the discipline of Surak, but to bring it to perfection."

"So you claim," the priest said loudly, so that all could hear, "yet you break Surak's disciplines. You sit and dine with those of the renegade Golheni sect. You even share their meat."

Yanash shook his head sadly. "Because you abstain from eating animal flesh, you consider yourselves pure. But there is no food that can defile you; uncleanness arises from a heart that withholds itself, and from a mind made blind by pride and arrogance. You priests are fond of quoting Surak in support of laws and customs he neither devised nor would approve. Out of the coldness of your hearts you divorce your bondmates, but I am telling you that those who have been mind-linked must not be divided. In your arrogance you devised the shul-var to divorce yourselves from your own children, and the heartless outcasting of ktorr-skan. Hear me: to be logical, one need not be cold and cruel." And shockingly he added, "The Source of all logic is also the Source of love."

Someone in the audience began to clap like a human. Startled, Sparn heard another join in, openly applauding Yanash.

With narrowed eyes, the priest turned and consulted with his companions. There was a movement in the crowd. A man and woman pressed forward, the man bearing a limp child in his arms. Sparn shrank from the sight of the girl's unfocussed gaze and the thin line of saliva that oozed from her gaping mouth.

The woman extended her hands to Yanash and called out, "Yanash, son of Surak, look upon our daughter and make her well!"

Sparn rose to his feet and held his breath as Yanash came down from the lectern. He had heard reports of healings and had attributed them to the natural explanations put forth by the media. Now, perhaps he would see a so-called "wonder" for himself.

Yanash looked upon the child with compassion. "How long has she been like this?"

"Two years, seven months," the father answered. "She fell from a balcony and the subsequent injury to her brain resists all treatment."

"I beg of you," the woman pleaded.

"You have much love for her," Yanash said far too warmly for a Vulcan. Reaching out, he touched the girl's smooth dark hair—not to establish mental contact, but in a brief caress.

Immediately the child moved. The arms and legs that had hung lifeless began to struggle, and her father set her on her feet. Sparn gasped as the child stood erect and turned intelligent eyes to her mother.

"Mekina," the child spoke clearly. _Mother._

A great stir arose from the spectators. Others came forward with mental and physical maladies, and Yanash sent them away in apparent health.

The priest raised his voice again. "No Vulcan can heal in this manner, with a simple touch of the hand. By what method do you perform these acts?"

Yanash faced his accuser with calm authority. "You have said rightly; there is no Vulcan power that heals in this manner. But why do you question me? Have I caused pain or injury? Or have I relieved it? All that is good originates from the same Source, who is God."

"What do you know of The Source!" scoffed the priest. "By what authority do you dare to teach? Show us your qualifications!"

"The Source is not some vast indifferent power, as you assert," replied Yanash. "It is said that Vulcans embrace technicality, but here is a simplicity that some minds will find shocking: you have an immortal soul and a God who loves you. That which I teach comes from Him."

A shout arose from the back of the temple. "Renegade!"

Other voices took up the cry. "Renegade! Arrest him!"

Sparn nervously glanced around and saw several strong, determined Vulcans heading their way. With a stirring of fear he turned back to the speaker's platform. Yanash was gone.

"He has escaped!" the priest shouted. "Find him!"

Sorel appeared at Sparn's side and tugged on his arm. "This way—hurry."

Sparn accompanied the young man without argument

oooo

The weeklong session of the Sy-Don Council passed without incident and ended on a note of compromise that Spock found encouraging. For the first time in centuries, the two planets were co-existing in peace. As he made his way out of the government building, he thought back on the small roles he and T'Beth had played in originally securing the historic peace. Then, he had been proud of her accomplishments and it had seemed as if they had finally reached a point of mutual trust. But now he wondered if he had ever really known her.

Not once during the conference had T'Beth approached him. Though they occupied the same seating section, she had avoided his eyes and kept strictly to herself after-hours. Their estrangement pained him, but it was her years of dishonesty that pained him most of all.

Walking along, he entered a breezeway where mist from nearby fountains cooled and moistened the desert air. He quickened his pace, wanting only to collect his belongings from the diplomat's residence and depart at once for Earth.

Without missing a stride he consulted his wrist phone and opened a line. "Ensign Murphy?"

The response was satisfactorily prompt. "Aye, sir."

As Spock drew a breath, his eyes lit on a solitary figure in Starfleet uniform standing near a fountain. With a bitter sting of recognition, he stopped in his tracks. T'Beth started to move toward him.

"Stand by," he told Murphy and closed the line.

Slowly but steadily, T'Beth approached until they were within speaking distance. Eyes brimming, she said, "You're leaving, aren't you? Going home."

"Yes," he replied.

"You were supposed to come to Sydok—it was all arranged."

"I have been there." A tightening in Spock's throat made the words sound harsh. "I saw no indication from you that I am welcome back."

Tears overflowed her eyes and splashed onto her uniform. Moving closer, she grabbed him by the sleeve and he let himself be drawn into a secluded corner. Still clutching him, she spoke softly, quickly. "I'm glad you found out. I'm glad it's finally over. Her name is Bethany. She's two years old and I want her to know you."

"You have a peculiar way of showing it," Spock observed.

"I've wanted to tell you—from even before she was born—a hundred thousand times..."

"You did not trust me."

"I was ashamed," she confessed. "I didn't want you to think that I'd…"

Spock broke her grip on his sleeve. "You lied."

"No, I didn't," she argued. "I didn't tell you about her, but I never lied to you—not even once."

On more than one occasion Spock had shaved the truth in just such a manner. From this new painful perspective, it no longer seemed like truth at all.

Releasing a deep breath, he asked, "Where is the child now?"

T'Beth's face lit with hope. Wiping at her tears, she said, "At home…waiting to meet her grandfather."

Spock briefly considered before putting the call through. "Ensign Murphy, prepare the courier for two passengers. Reset course…for Donari."

oooo

Weary and unwashed, Sparn sat alone in his living room. The dim light of a single lamp scarcely held back the darkness of the night. There had been little time for him to assimilate all the disturbing things he had seen and heard this afternoon. He did not understand why he had risked censure by bringing Yanash and his disciples here into his home; why he had fed them and offered his own bedrooms so they could sleep undisturbed.

Only Yanash was not sleeping. The mesmerizing Vulcan had gone off by himself into the back garden, and now Sparn felt a desire to join him. With all his will Sparn resisted the urge, but years of self-centered behavior had weakened his discipline. He felt frightened and bewildered by the strange emptiness inside him that seemed to hunger for Yanash's presence.

 _I am a man of many years,_ he thought, _a gray-haired elder of the clan Talek-sen-deen. What words can one so young possibly speak to me?_

Yet Sparn's heart so longed for the words of Yanash that he rose and went out into the yard. T'Khut's red-amber glow illuminated the neglected garden. As if for the first time, Sparn noticed the dying plants—T'Prinka's beloved flowers—and was saddened. He found Yanash seated upon a bench with his eyes closed.

"Am I disturbing you?" Sparn quietly asked.

Yanash glanced up and seemed pleased to see him. "Sparn," he said in a warm tone. "Come sit by me. You are troubled."

Sparn did not deny it, did not question how it was that Yanash knew. Without a word he sat down in the sand by his feet. There were no words to describe the turmoil in his mind, in his heart.

Yanash began to speak. "If one looks honestly at history, it becomes clear that Vulcans are, by nature, a highly emotional people. Surak taught you to control your emotions; he gave you the Mind Rules; he gave you a system of self-discipline to help regulate your behavior. But Sparn, none of that has really solved the underlying problem."

"Emotion," Sparn said confidently. It was an answer known to every Vulcan schoolchild.

Shockingly Yanash said, "No. It is the _abuse_ of emotion and intellect by a misdirected will. It is sin."

 _"_ _Sin!"_ Sparn all but choked on the archaic term. Modern Vulcans spoke of errors, failures, insufficiencies.

Yanash continued. "Vulcans will readily admit that they are 'ruled by logic', but are they not actually enslaved by it? The constraints of logic and discipline do not solve the deeper problem of your fallen nature, and in trying to repress the negative, sinful side yourselves, you have stifled the free expression of that which is most precious—joy, compassion, love. Vulcans hide behind prideful masks, often believing themselves to be a superior race, when in fact they are like lost sehlats wandering in the desert of their intellects."

Sparn was horrified. "Before Surak, we were savages. All we have is the force of our wills. If we set aside the discipline, we are lost!"

"I have come to save what is lost," Yanash said with unshakable authority.

"How?" Sparn's voice trembled with emotion. He could not seem to control it or the desperate rush of words that spilled from him. "How can such a people be saved? Beneath the veneer of civilization we are still savages. Every seventh year our true nature breaks through all restraints."

"The pon farr." Yanash's handsome face grew somber. "I tell you, it was not always so. The trouble began when Vulcans gave themselves over to the debaucheries of the Savage Era. In the time of Surak's Reformation it was soon discovered that no discipline could completely eliminate the debasing urges that would come upon them, for their hormones had become attuned to excesses and drove them like beasts."

Sparn had to disagree. "Young sir, I have been a teacher of Vulcan history. I have studied the ancient texts with their myths of a Time-Before-Time, when sexual excess was unknown. There is no scientific evidence to support them."

"If you truly know the ancient texts," Yanash said, "then you must know that they also speak of me."

Sparn cast about for some possible reference. "There are those scholars who believe that the Shiav Texts predicted Surak's rise, but as for you, sir…" His voice trailed away.

Yanash said, "Is it not written by Mokavar that one chosen by God would escape the curse of the Vulcan male? Yet Surak was not exempt from the pon farr. How do you explain that?"

Sparn experienced such acute embarrassment that he actually stammered. "I…I cannot give any explanation, but…begging your pardon, I…I have heard it reported that you…that you…"

"Have escaped the pon farr?" Yanash finished for him. "You have heard correctly."

Wonderingly, Sparn asked, "But how could it be? Even my brother's son, who is half human, could not escape it entirely."

Yanash said, "Since sin entered the world, your souls are born weakened and find it difficult to resist the body's demands. Only one who is without sin can fully reorder the passions."

A warm breeze stirred through the garden. Sparn's vision blurred. Reaching out with both hands, he gripped Yanash by the arm. "In all my years—all my miserable, wasted years I have never heard words such as you speak! What is this power that you hold? My heart is burning inside me!"

Yanash looked upon him with kindness and gently brushed a tear from Sparn's face. For that fleeting instant of contact, Sparn seemed to glimpse Yanash's heart, and he shivered at the ecstatic feeling of unconditional love.

"Believe in me," Yanash said.

"I will," Sparn vowed. "I _do."_

oooo

Spock was home a full day before he brought out the photo T'Beth had given him, and set it in plain view on his desk. In the next room, twelve-year-old Simon had begun practicing a violin composition in preparation for next week's Statler competition. While the music was playing, he called Lauren into his study and closed the door.

Standing there, she eyed him with her usual wifely intuition and said, "Okay, what's happened? Say it quick or I'll start imagining all kinds of disasters."

With no further delay he pointed to the picture of T'Beth and child. "Behold my two-year-old granddaughter."

 _"_ _What?"_ Lauren turned and stared at the toddler smiling on T'Beth's lap. Going over, she picked up the photo and studied the child's face intently. The golden eyes and hair left little doubt as to her Sy parentage. Softly Lauren said, "So the rumors were true…"

"Yes, at least in some measure. She did not mention a princeling, but the father is Sydok. The child's name is Bethany. Bethany S'chn T'gai."

Lauren looked appropriately surprised. "Your surname! Then…the father…."

"T'Beth is unmarried. She has denied the father any part in his child's life, just as I was once denied access to T'Beth. Ironic, how history repeats itself."

He told Lauren how he discovered the child and later spent some time with her on Sydok. "Bethany is bright and well-mannered. She had been carefully coached to call me…" he forced out the word "… _Grand_ father."

Still holding the picture, Lauren frowned at him. "You seem angry."

"I am," he conceded. The thought of T'Beth's lengthy deception continued to rankle. His visit to Sydok had been brief and awkward. "I plainly informed my daughter that I do not approve of how she has handled the situation. I asked her what she expects me to tell her young sister and brothers. A half-truth? An outright lie?"

Lauren sighed. "What did she say?"

"Nothing."

Midway through dinner that evening, Lauren brought the photo to the table. Spock watched his children react to the smiling little stranger seated with T'Beth.

Simon was first to speak. "Who's that? T'Beth doesn't have any children."

James, looking tired from an afternoon at kindergarten, scarcely seemed to care. He asked to be excused and went upstairs, leaving the remainder of his dinner.

His blonde twin Teresa caught hold of the picture and studied it delightedly. "Oh Mommy, Daddy, isn't she sweet? I want her to be my sister."

Spock met Lauren's eyes over the table.

Carefully Lauren said, "Her name is Bethany…and she can't be your sister, because she's your _niece."_

Simon frowned. "An actual blood niece?"

"Yes," Spock said.

"What's a niece?" Teresa asked in confusion.

Simon snapped at her, "It means, stupid, that T'Beth's had a baby!" Swinging around in his seat, he glared accusingly at Spock. "How come you didn't tell us?"

Spock stiffened. It would seem that his work on the Klingon Peace Accord and subsequent diplomatic activities had kept him too often away from home. Once again, the boy's attitude was deteriorating. Very firmly he said, "Young man, do not take that tone with me— _or_ your sister. You were not informed about Bethany because none of us knew."

"T'Beth kept her a secret," Lauren added in her gentlest peacemaker voice.

"Why?" Simon persisted. "Is she a bastard or something?"

Spock's gaze locked with his, and the boy's eyes narrowed in the first serious challenge to Spock's authority in more than a year.

"Teresa, go upstairs," Spock ordered.

"But Daddy…"

 _"_ _Upstairs."_

Teresa put down the picture and obeyed without further argument. As soon as she was out of earshot, Spock abruptly pushed back his chair and stood. All at once Simon's bravado failed. Looking decidedly alarmed, the gangly boy lunged away from the table, became entangled in his chair, and fell.

"Get up," Spock commanded.

"I didn't mean it, I didn't mean it," Simon hastily cried out from the floor.

"I do not believe you," Spock declared. Reaching down, he caught hold of Simon's arm and pulled him up.

As Spock maintained his grip, the boy squirmed and said, "Ow! That hurts!"

"Spock," pleaded Lauren.

Spock knew he was inflicting no injury; nevertheless, he eased his hold. It would not do to bruise the arm of their young violinist before an important competition. He was about to lecture Simon on the appropriate use of language when Teresa rushed back into the kitchen, breathless with urgency.

"Mommy, Daddy, something's wrong with Jamie!"

Spock glanced at Lauren and saw a reflection of his own fear. Then they were both rushing out the door.

oooo

Sparn had become an _orensu_ —a student of Yanash and his strange new ways. From one place to another he drove his car in the caravan of curious followers. Always there were Vulcans who gladly received Yanash—a few intellectuals, but mostly Vulcans from the underclass of menials and technicians to which Yanash belonged, as well as members of fringe sects like the Golheni. Even outside the safebelts, Yanash drew crowds. No matter how remote the locale, how torrid the weather, there always seemed to be enough food and water for everyone. And only once was anybody harmed by a dangerous plant or creature, but not for long. Yanash had immediately sought out the screaming boy and healed the spine-lizard burn with a touch.

Yanash was fond of children. Only today he had spoken against the age-old custom of discipline by grandfathers. "The disciplining of children should be kept in the home. Punishment must at all times be tempered by a parent's affection. Take your children into your arms. Do not be afraid to hold them, do not be afraid to speak what is in your heart. Love them tenderly, even as your Father loves you."

More and more Yanash referred to God as a father and spoke openly of the Father's love for all Vulcans. It came as no surprise that journalists had ceased reporting on the "Yanash Phenomenon". Those in power did not approve of Yanash's revolutionary teachings or the way some were now calling him "Shiav", or savior. They would hope that a news blackout might put an end to his popularity.

But Sparn knew it would take more than that. Yanash had already grown too powerful. There were those among his followers who dreamed of overthrowing Vulcan's government and putting Yanash in charge. One word from the Shiav, that is all it would take—but anyone who dared mention such an idea to the Teacher was soundly scolded.

Sparn sat in the shade of a parkland tree, watching Yanash and marveling at his patience. Eridani was low in the sky and Yanash had not enjoyed a moment of solitude in three days, yet still he welcomed the steady stream of people who continued to press forward, asking him to touch their children, pleading for favors and healing, eager for every word that came from his mouth.

As Sparn watched, an outworlder wearing a cooling suit shoved his way up to Yanash. The blue-skinned Andorian inclined his deformed antenna toward the Teacher and demanded, "Heal _me!"_

Yanash replied using, as was his custom, a very ancient name for Vulcan. "I came for the people of Yatara."

The Andorian looked upon him and dropped to one knee. In a much humbler tone he said, "Lord, I know your goodness and mercy is not confined to any planet. Help me, I beg of you."

Yanash gave the Andorian a gentle smile and said, "Your faith is great!"

He was reaching for the shriveled stalk when Sparn's phone chimed. Absently Sparn drew it out and responded in voice mode, "Yes?"

The Andorian's antenna seemed to plump and expand under Yanash's touch. In an instant it looked entirely normal. Realizing that he was cured, the Andorian leaped up and cried in joy, "Thank you, Lord! Thank you! God spare you!"

"…Sparn? Sparn!"

It took a moment for Sparn to realize that the voice calling from his phone belonged to his brother. He had not been aware that Sarek was even on Vulcan. His diplomatic work demanded much traveling.

"Yes, Sarek," he said, still intent on the scene before him. "Are you well? And Amanda, your wife?"

"I am well," Sarek said. "Amanda found our recent trip more tiring than usual, but her healer says there is no cause for concern." He paused, and then spoke again with an unusual note of urgency. "Sparn, where are you?"

So Sarek had been informed. Reluctantly Sparn rose from his spot of shade. He did not notice the Teacher's eyes on him as he moved farther away from the crowd. His hand trembled slightly, but his voice remained firm as he said, "I believe you know where I am, brother. With Yanash."

Sarek's tone became icy. "That renegade? Have you lost your mind?"

The words loosed a tangle of emotion. As the elder brother, Sparn had a right to Sarek's respect, but both of them knew who was the wiser, the more accomplished. Though Sparn had long resented Sarek, he also dreaded his disapproval.

Sarek demanded, "Leave there at once, Sparn! If need be, charge the transportation to my account. At once! Do you hear me?"

Sparn drew a shaky breath and glanced over his shoulder, expecting to see Yanash in the midst of the crowd. He found himself standing face to face with the Teacher, and felt strengthened.

"Sparn!" Sarek snapped. "Do you understand? Answer me!"

"Yes," Sparn said evenly. "I understand everything you are saying." And he broke the connection.

Almost at once the phone in his hand began chiming again. Inwardly torn, Sparn stared at it.

"It is my brother," he told Yanash. "Sarek thinks I have gone mad, and perhaps I have. I am neglecting my business, and the bills are accumulating at an alarming rate…"

"Sparn," Yanash said in gentle reproach. He took the phone from his hand and turned it off. "Sparn, no one who has left businesses or belongings to follow me will go unrewarded. When we first met, you were gathering sandclaws. Soon you will begin to gather something of far greater value."

Sparn gazed into comforting blue eyes, and his heart beat faster. All his life he had yearned for the kind of greatness that seemed to come so naturally to Sarek and his halfling son—to perform brave deeds that affected the course of history. "Teacher," he asked, "what would you have me do?"

Yanash put a hand on Sparn's shoulder, a sweet dizzying touch, and softly said, "Your brother's wife is ill."

"Yes." Sparn was not at all surprised that Yanash knew. Was the teacher reading his thoughts? "She has been seen by a healer; she is in no danger."

With solemn certainty Yanash said, "Her illness is to the death."

The words took Sparn aback. Amanda dying? In his mind's eye he saw the fragile little human his brother had married. How he had always disliked her and her halfbreed offspring—Spock, who resembled him so strongly.

"She has a son," Yanash said.

Sparn warmed with embarrassment. "Yes. Spock. He lives among the humans on Earth."

Yanash nodded. "You must go to him at once."

Astonished, Sparn stepped away from Yanash and his pleasant, disturbing touch. "No. There is no need for that. I will send him a message."

"And he will contact his parents and they will assure him that all is well."

Sparn argued harder. "Why would Spock believe me? Me, of all people? Teacher, you do not understand…"

Yanash looked upon him in silence and Sparn felt his embarrassment deepening into shame. Yes, the Teacher understood. All too clearly Yanash saw the bitter prejudices and resentments Sparn had carried through the years. Yet there was no condemnation in the Teacher's eyes, only sadness.

"Go to him," Yanash said.

Sparn feebly nodded.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"I should be used to this by now," Lauren said with a catch in her voice.

Spock watched her rise up and begin to pace alongside the hospital bed James had occupied all week. Now the bed was empty. Once more, James had been whisked to some other area of the hospital for further testing. Once more, specialists were struggling to devise some innovative medical procedure to keep him alive one more day, one more month, one more year.

Lauren stopped and faced Spock, who remained motionless in his chair. "I should be used to this," she repeated. "But on his fifth birthday? Why did it have to happen now?"

Spock found it interesting that she had not simply questioned why their son had to suffer a life-threatening syndrome at all. From the beginning, Lauren had accepted James' condition more easily than Spock—perhaps because she was a doctor and well-acquainted with maladies. Spock only knew that he wanted their son to live.

"James will survive," he said levelly.

Lauren's eyes glistened with unshed tears. Raising a fist to her trembling mouth, she drew in a slow breath. "Maybe he will. Maybe this time…"

"Then don't think beyond this time." Spock rose. "Consider Jim Kirk. He was confined to a wheelchair until Aaron Pascal developed the Cell Transmigrator. No one is capable of predicting future events. A cure for James could be found today."

Hope stirred in Lauren's eyes. Wordlessly she crossed the little room and sought comfort in his arms. Calming somewhat, she said, "Poor Teresa. It's her birthday, too. And we missed Simon's competition. I wonder how he did? You'd better go home."

"Yes," Spock agreed. There was no need to say the familiar words, but he did anyway. "Call me if…"

"I will," she promised.

Spock left the hospital. Clouds the color of human blood all but obscured the setting sun. Darkness was fast approaching when he arrived home. Teresa heard the skimmer land and met him at the door.

"How's Jamie?" she asked, her blue eyes wide and solemn.

"The doctors are taking good care of him," Spock replied evasively. "Have you opened your gifts?" But of course she would not have. This sweet-natured daughter would touch neither gifts nor cake until her beloved Jamie could share them with her.

 _And if James died?_ Spock pushed the chilling thought into a remote corner of his mind.

Before he could pass over the threshold, Teresa stretched up on tiptoe and whispered, "Daddy, there's a Vulcan man here. Auntie Sakata let him in."

"Indeed," Spock said, curious.

Just then, wizened old Mrs. Sakata appeared in the doorway with her purse. "Mr. Spock—it's good you're back. Son called. Simon won top honor and will be here soon. Dinner cooked and uncle man waiting. Very patient man. I go home now."

Thinking that Mrs. Sakata had meant to say "Vulcan man", Spock went into the living room with Teresa on his heels. A single light shone in one corner where a silvery-haired Vulcan sat in Lauren's favorite chair.

The man rose from the chair and faced him.

Spock stared, too stunned to say a word. _Sparn here on Earth? In his home?_

He gradually became aware of a small hand tugging at his sleeve. "Daddy," Teresa coached in a stage whisper, "say 'hello'."

Sparn's eyes went to the child and Spock found himself wanting to conceal her from this cold, disapproving man who had so plagued his own childhood.

"Teresa, upstairs," he told her.

She let out a gusty sigh. "Upstairs, upstairs, that's all I ever hear!" But she obeyed.

Sparn sighed almost as loudly as the child. It was a sound Spock had never heard from his rigidly controlled uncle, and now he noticed other differences, as well—a subtle relaxing of Sparn's arrogant stance, an unfamiliar gentleness in his dark, hawkish eyes.

"Hello, Spock," Sparn said almost pleasantly, using the non-Vulcan salutation suggested by Teresa.

Spock inclined his head in the Vulcan manner and spoke the greeting appropriate for an uncle. "T'teer." Reaching deep into the discipline, he added, "You honor me and my home."

"Spock, let us be truthful," Sparn responded. "I have never done anything to honor you or your home, but with your forbearance I hope to do so now."

oooo

Sparn felt woefully inadequate for the task—hardly unusual for him, but while previously such feelings had served to stiffen his defensive mask, now he sat at Spock's table with a sense of humility. Dinner was a near-silent, awkward affair. Keenly aware that he was unwelcome, Sparn found it difficult to eat. He privately wondered what had become of Spock's wife and two sons, but did not think it appropriate to ask.

It was a relief when Spock left to answer the phone. Sparn nudged his plate aside and looked at Spock's beautiful, golden-haired daughter. He found her head bowed, her little mouth trembling. Tears began to stream down her cheeks.

The sight was so strangely moving that Sparn asked, "Child, what is the matter?"

She sobbed, "Jamie's awful sick again. I'm afraid he's gonna die."

 _Jamie. James Skon? The boy who bore the name of Sparn's father?_

Sparn said, "This Jamie is your twin, is he not?"

Teresa nodded. "He's at the hospital with Mommy."

Sparn experienced a fresh stirring of emotion—partly compassion, partly fear. His mission was such a delicate one. He had already delayed telling Spock about his mother. Now how could he tell him when his young son was so ill?

Out in the phone alcove, Spock sat before the blanked screen, his thoughts reeling, his head lowered into his hand. A tightness in his chest made it difficult to breathe, but somehow he must. Somehow he must move beyond Lauren's wrenching words. _"Nothing more can be done. Another week, another month. All we can do is make him comfortable."_

So soon? How could it be? Most Vash-Lester children would live another seven years…or even more. _How could it be?_

The phone gave a sudden, specific chime that signaled an incoming subspace message. Spock lowered his hand, straightened, and did what he could to collect himself. Numbly he called up the message, and an image of his father appeared.

Sarek seemed tense. "Spock, I am calling in regard to your uncle, Sparn. Records indicate that he is traveling to Earth. I caution you, he has been behaving…erratically. If you should come into contact with him, let me know at once. Sarek out."

Spock stared, uncomprehending, at the screen. _Sparn behaving erratically?_ Yes, Sparn was certainly acting out of character, but Sarek had left too much unsaid, and just now Spock had neither the energy nor the desire to concern himself with his uncle. He wanted only to be alone and have a moment to recover.

He was half out of the chair when the phone chimed yet again. Sinking down, he waited while it cycled to the message mode.

"Hello, this is Frank Ivers of the Statler Foundation. I was calling to see if your son Simon has returned home yet." A hesitation. "I need to speak with you regarding an…an incident…at today's competition."

With a sense of impending crisis, Spock opened the channel. The human who appeared on the screen looked relieved but distinctly uncomfortable.

"Yes, Mr. Ivers," Spock acknowledged. "Simon is expected home at any moment. How can I help you?"

Ivers shifted position. "Sir, one of the entrant's violins was vandalized at Statler Hall before the competition. Although the girl did go onstage using a borrowed instrument, she was badly shaken." Once more he hesitated. "I'm sorry to say that your son has been implicated."

The band around Spock's chest cinched tighter. "Implicated?"

After detailing the evidence, Ivers finished, "There will be an investigation. If Simon is found guilty, he will of course forfeit his award."

The screen faded. As if from a great distance, Spock heard the sound of the front door opening.

The terrible shout brought Sparn to his feet. It was an adolescent's voice, decidedly male, and thick with fury. "No! I won fair and square, but you don't even care! You don't give a damn about _me!"_

Contrary to customs of Vulcan privacy, Sparn went to the doorway and looked in upon the emotional scene. Spock stood face to face with a handsome, dark-haired youth. Although the boy's ears were as round as a human's, the set of his blue eyes left no doubt that he was Spock's son and Sparn's own grandnephew Simon.

 _"_ _Liar,"_ Spock spoke so scathingly that Sparn flinched. "Why do you continue to deny the facts? When will you understand? An award won through cheating has no value. It is meaningless. Worst of all, you deliberately harmed another person. The girl's performance was compromised. It may be that her family cannot afford to buy her a violin as fine as the one you destroyed. Does that mean nothing to you?"

Simon's eyes lowered. Stiff with resentment, he said, "Nothing I say would make any difference."

"It would mean the difference between the truth and a lie. Or do you no longer know that difference?"

The boy struggled with himself. Then defiantly he said, "Alright—I did it! Now are you satisfied?"

Spock stood in stony silence and it was almost as if Sparn could see his nephew's thoughts, and they were dark indeed. At last Spock said, "You have been blessed with good health and great talent, but I would rather see you lose both than see you damage your character by such thoughtless, self-serving behavior."

Simon's eyes narrowed. "You wish I was sick like James! Sometimes I think he does it just to get attention!"

Sparn held his breath, wondering how his nephew would react.

"Is that what _you_ want?" Spock demanded. "Attention? Well, you have drawn more than just _my_ attention this time. You will be stripped of your award, you will apologize to the girl and her parents, and you will give her your finest violin. You will not have another one like it until you have earned the money yourself."

Simon's defiance gave way to pleading. "No, not my good violin! I could never make that much money!"

Without another word, Spock turned from him and went upstairs.

Sparn had been too absorbed by the scene to notice Teresa standing white-faced beside him. Now Simon swung around to confront his sister, discovered Sparn, and froze. The boy's eyes widened as he took in the strong resemblance between Sparn and his father. Then he, too, headed for the stairs.

After a brief interlude, Spock briefly reappeared and took his daughter to the upper floor. Then, either forgotten or deliberately ignored, Sparn found himself alone in the living room. He sat for a considerable period of time before wandering into the kitchen where he removed the dinner dishes from the table. Returning to the living room, he studied each piece of artwork that was displayed. The tour ended beneath an exquisite portrait of Spock's wife. It was signed by an artist named Cordova, who had used soft tones that lent a mystical air to the human's beauty. Would Spock's wife spend all night at the hospital? Sparn sensed his nephew's need for her, but knew there was One whom Spock was needing even more. If only Yanash were here. He would know what to do. He would tell Sparn plainly, _"Stay, leave, be silent, speak."_

Sparn remembered the Teacher's parting words. _"Go to him. Go at once."_

Sparn's eye rose to the ceiling and he thought of the stars glimmering in the night sky, of distant Vulcan, of Yanash. "Now?" he said aloud. "At once?"

Silence answered.

"Not now," Sparn argued. "It is too soon. And the day has not gone well for him."

 _Not well at all,_ spoke an inner voice.

"But he will think I am insane."

 _You are not,_ came the calm response.

In a frightening flash of insight, Sparn clearly saw for the first time what was being asked of him. There was only one way to prove his sanity, one way to let Spock see the truth of Yanash for himself. And in that mind-linked seeing, all of Sparn would lay exposed—both the clean and the dirty, and there was so much that had been dirty.

 _No man is clean,_ came the thought. _As you would be helped, so help others. What I have done for you, do now also for him._

oooo

Upstairs, Spock sat at his desk in his darkened study, his face lit eerily from the computer running before him. The screen bothered his eyes. His mind rebelled against the hyperdimensional physics in which he was trying to lose himself; again and again it strayed to more personal thoughts—troubling images from the past, rife with conflict and the bitterest of emotions. T'Beth, Simon, James—his children's names had become a litany of failure and loss.

Every Vulcan knew that pain was a matter of the mind. He should have been able to control it, yet tonight he felt increasingly helpless against the tide of despair rising in him. Closing his eyes, he shut out the glare of the computer. Once more he began the exercise for emptying his mind. When that proved unsuccessful, he tried to concentrate on the vastness of the universe, but just now the universe seemed cold and crushing and sinister.

Disgusted with himself, he shoved back his chair and stood up. At that instant the door opened. Light from the hallway streamed into the study, silhouetting a tall masculine figure. All too well, Spock knew he had neglected his uncle. _Erratic,_ Sarek had called Sparn. Indeed, Sparn was behaving strangely, but then so was Spock.

Uninvited, Sparn came fully into the room and closed the door. A small courtesy light automatically flashed on. Now they could see one another plainly.

It occurred to Spock that his uncle had not knocked, but his own rudeness toward a guest more than outweighed any intrusion on his privacy. It was he who owed Sparn an explanation, so quietly he said in his native tongue, "I should not have left you, T'teer. This evening I have not…been myself."

The Sparn he remembered would have looked upon him with disdain and lectured him, but the eyes of this Sparn held an unmistakable light of compassion. Clearly his uncle _had_ in some manner changed.

Sparn said, "It must sometimes be difficult for you, living so far from Vulcan."

"There are moments when I long for my homeworld," Spock admitted.

"I must leave soon for Vulcan," Sparn said. "Return with me for a time."

The invitation was unprecedented. Suspicious, Spock came out from behind the desk and studied his uncle's new, kindly face. "May I ask why you have come?"

Sparn seemed to undergo an interior struggle. Finally he said, "That will soon be evident. I ask only that you return with me."

"I cannot," Spock told him.

"You _must,"_ Sparn said urgently. "As the humans say, it is 'a matter of life or death'."

A sudden resurgence of grief crushed the breath out of Spock. His throat tightened painfully as he revealed, "It is because of death that I cannot go with you. My son James…"

Sparn's face lit strangely. With a slight smile, he stepped closer. "Bring him! There is one on Vulcan who can heal your son!"

Spock stared at his uncle. Now Sparn's behavior was beginning to hint of madness, yet there was something within Spock that badly wanted to believe. "Sparn, no one can heal my son. There is no cure for Vash-Lester."

Sparn merely nodded. "So that is it. But it does not matter. You have only to believe, to ask Yanash, and your son will be healed."

All at once Spock understood. Annoyed with himself for having begun to hope even for an instant, but annoyed most of all with Sparn, he said, "Yanash the 'Shiav'! Have you actually become a devotee of that fool?"

Sparn's face became as stony as Spock had ever seen it. "I will excuse your words because you do not know Yanash. But nephew, I will not hear such disrespect from you again. As for Vulcan, you _must_ come _._ You _will_ come _."_

"Because your Shiav commands it?"

"Because…" Sparn stopped and his manner grew gentle. "Because your mother is about to die."

So it was said. Sparn turned from the sight of his nephew's pain and walked over to the tall glass doors. His heart raced as he drew aside a filmy curtain and looked at the stars visible beyond the balcony. Now the questions would begin in earnest. Now, more than ever, he would need the strength and wisdom of Yanash.

Spock's voice came to him—cool, controlled, skeptical. "Today I heard from my father. I find it peculiar that he said nothing about my mother's health. He did, however, express concern regarding yours."

Sparn turned and faced him. "Sarek should pay more attention to his wife. He has put all his confidence in her healers, but I tell you, she will not recover."

"Are you now a physician, then? Or perhaps a seer?"

"You know I am not," Sparn replied. "It is Yanash who knows, Yanash who sent me."

Spock's eyebrow rose and he nodded. "Ah. I understand. Then the solution is simple. Have Yanash heal her."

Growing frustrated, Sparn said, "Spock, your mother is old and her time has come. There will be no healing."

Doubt flickered in Spock's eyes, then disappeared. He went to a side door and as he opened it, a light came on, revealing a bedroom. Without looking at Sparn, he said, "If you wish to stay, there is a room directly across the hall. Excuse me now, for I am tired…"

Sparn moved swiftly. At the doorway he grasped Spock by the shoulder and swung him around. Confronting him, he cursed, "T'Vareth! You _will_ listen to me!"

Spock stared at him, wide-eyed. "You _have_ lost your mind."

"Are you so certain?" Sparn asked. "If you do not go to your mother now, you will regret it for the rest of your life." Suddenly he was no longer angry, no longer afraid. Raising a finger to his own temple, he said, "Spock, you are an intelligent man. There is only one way for you to be certain that you are making the right decision. Come, see the truth for yourself. It is only logical."

oooo

The shock of the meld left Spock lying awake for hours. Sparn _was_ profoundly changed, but on close examination his mind had seemed entirely sane. Yet in the clarity of his uncle's mind he had encountered deeply disturbing images.

 _Yanash._ An archaic name vanishingly rare in Vulcan's highly rational society, for it meant "God lives". Who was this Yanash, wielding powers far beyond those of other Vulcans, publicly making bold declarations such as _"I am logic, I am truth, I am enlightenment?"_ Not even Surak had made such claims.

Spock rose and slowly paced the darkness beside his bed. As a child he had been fascinated by the greatest of mysteries until Sarek convinced him that the concepts of God and an afterlife were fallacies unworthy of a modern Vulcan. Years of study among the kolinahru had not led him to change his beliefs, nor had his personal experience of death.

How many times had he been asked the same question: _"What was it like to die?_ " In reply he did not recite the old katra legends of the Vulcan people. He did not speak of a tunnel, light, or glorious spiritual reunion like so many humans reported from their "near death experiences". He did not reply at all, because he did not remember anything beyond a vague katra-link with Doctor McCoy. Yet here he stood, living proof that his essence _had_ in some form continued beyond death.

The words of this young renegade fascinated him, but most intriguing of all were the many images of healing. If Yanash truly wielded the power of life…

Spock abruptly returned to the facts. Even a sane man could be deluded, and the light in his uncle's eyes seemed all too familiar. Hadn't Spock's own brother Sybok looked the same? Sybok's religious delusions had led him to commit crimes and eventually resulted in his death. So far, Yanash was not advocating criminal behavior, but his hold over the people of Vulcan made Spock uneasy. Ultimately there was only one way to verify what was happening on his home world. And so he made his decision.

In the hour before dawn he put through a quick series of phone calls. Then he awakened his uncle. After informing Sparn of his plans, he left for Starfleet Medical Center where Lauren had spent the night. As he entered his son's hospital room, she rose from her place at James' bedside. The boy was sleeping, but Lauren looked as if she had not gotten much rest.

Wordlessly she embraced Spock and began to quietly weep with a depth of emotion that intensified his own sorrow. As he held her close, he turned his thoughts to the images of Yanash in Sparn's mind. There was so little time left. Somehow, for the sake of their son, he must convince her to make this one last attempt.

Softly he said, "It may be…that he will not die."

Lauren drew back, eyes wet with tears, her hands still holding him. "Spock." She pronounced each anguished word slowly, deliberately. "We…have…to…face…reality."

He touched her face, wanting her to understand, wanting to share this unlikely flicker of hope kindled in him, yet keenly aware of how foolish he would sound. "Lauren…aisha…there are facts of which you are not aware."

Dull with sorrow, her eyes turned aside and her grip on his arms loosened. "No." Her voice was barely audible. "I've gone over all the facts….over and over and over."

Spock prepared himself for an argument. Drawing a deep breath, he said, "We must take James to Vulcan immediately. Your mother is supplying a medical courier ship from Sanger Industries. My uncle Sparn is currently sending Simon and Teresa to stay with her. He will accompany us on our journey."

The dullness fled from Lauren's eyes. She stared at him, speechless.

He continued. "You must prepare James for transport. There is a man on Vulcan—"

She interrupted. "Did you say 'Sparn'? Sarek's brother? The perpetual 'thorn in your heel'?"

"Yes," Spock said, "it is he who brought news of a healer on Vulcan. Sparn has become a…a follower of the man; he has greatly changed."

"A follower?" she asked with suspicion. "Whose follower? What's his name?"

A nurse entered the room. Impatient with the delay, Spock nevertheless waited until she finished with James. The boy slept on.

Their privacy assured, Spock voiced the name that he feared would unleash a storm of protest. "I am speaking of Yanash."

Lauren merely lifted one eyebrow and studied his face in silence. Then quietly, reasonably, she said, "But I thought you were opposed to him. _Strongly_ opposed."

He, too, raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps…I have been in error. After all, until now our knowledge of this man has consisted entirely of news coverage and hearsay. Sparn offered something more. He permitted me to look into his mind and see Yanash through his own eyes." He paused. "I can't say that I agree with his teachings, but Lauren…Yanash _heals._ With a touch, with a mere word. Perhaps if we ask him, he will heal our son."

She looked upon him with amazement. "You actually _believe_ that!"

Spock considered for a moment. "It's what I have seen in my uncle's mind. It's what I would _like_ to believe."

All at once the exhaustion and hopelessness seemed to drain from Lauren's face. Breaking into the first smile that Spock had seen from her in days, she said, "How soon can the ship be ready?"

oooo

The journey to Vulcan proved difficult. The ship provided by Lauren's mother came complete with crew and a nursing staff devoted to James' care, but despite their professional attention, the boy slipped into a coma. Hour by hour the displays above his bed registered his steady decline.

While Lauren maintained a steadfast vigil, Spock preferred not to watch so closely. He spent much of his time in the cockpit where he found a certain comfort amid the familiar instruments that had been a part of his life for so many years. He was there, together with Sparn, when they approached Vulcan. As the red planet loomed nearer, it became evident that its space lanes were carrying an abnormally high number of vessels. The pilot made their presence known and they merged into the orbiting traffic.

Spock took over communications. His family's emergency medical visas had been preregistered along with their flight plan. He had only to request final authorization from Vulcan Space Central and beam down.

An emotionless Vulcan voice filtered back from the intercom. "The visa for S'chn T'gai Lauren Alice Fielding and S'chn T'gai James Skon have been invalidated as per yesterday's High Council ruling PR775-81. At this time only medically approved citizens of Vulcan will be admitted. The citizens S'chn T'gai Sparn and S'chn T'gai Spock are qualified to transport to Space Central for medical approval."

The pilot swung his chair toward Spock and remarked, "I'd call that a double-cross! Is it legal?"

"It is within their rights," Spock answered numbly.

Sparn said, "First they suppress the news. Now they exclude the sick, the maimed, and the outworlders. They are growing frightened."

Spock thought of his son lying amid the machines working to sustain his failing body, and worked to control his own fear.

Sparn rose from his chair and placed a hand on Spock's shoulder. "Go to your mother in ShiKahr. Sarek has influence. He may help if you tell him that you are here seeking a healer for James."

Looking up at his uncle, Spock said, "But Yanash is not a certified healer."

"Yet he heals," Sparn declared.

oooo

After undergoing a brief medical scan at Space Central, Spock transported directly into the back garden of his boyhood home. It took an instant to orient himself. Then turning, he found a frail-looking woman seated in the morning shade on the patio.

Her face lit with a smile of recognition, but she made no attempt to rise. Only her hand lifted, urging him nearer. "You've arrived," she said warmly. "Come here, Spock."

He felt a prickling behind his eyes and refused the tears that threatened his composure. Outwardly calm, he entered the patio and grasped the bony fingers that seemed much too cool, even for a human. Yet her affection was as strong as ever.

"Mother," he said, "you are not well."

She shrugged. "Just a little 'under the weather'." Her expression changed to one of sympathetic concern. "Poor little James. He reminds me so much of you at the same age—so very Vulcan. Is there any hope for him at all?"

"I don't know," Spock replied.

Sarek came out of the house.

Releasing his mother's hand, Spock faced him and said, "Father, I must speak to you."

Sarek glanced at Amanda, then nodded. "Come inside."

Spock followed his father into the living room. His eyes were briefly drawn to his solemn childhood portrait—so like James that there was a wrenching inside him. Deep down, he already knew the outcome of this conversation. One could more easily move a mountain than move a Vulcan. Only logic would sway Sarek, and there was little logic in what Spock had to say.

He began with the words Sparn had suggested. "Father, as I mentioned over the com-link, I have come seeking a healer for James. There is no more that can be done for him on Earth. He is here…dying…aboard a medical courier ship orbiting Vulcan. I ask you to use your influence with the Council."

Sarek's deep-set eyes studied him for a moment. Finally he said, "The Council will make no exceptions to its ruling. Vulcan's space lanes are full of misguided people hoping to receive the 'blessing of Yanash'." The name was spoken with thinly veiled sarcasm. "What healer do you seek?"

Spock hesitated. "A healer who might save my son."

"There is no healer capable of curing Vash-Lester disease. Nevertheless, I will summon mine and he will accompany you to your ship." Sarek turned toward the com center.

"No." Spock braced for the storm that was sure to break. "You are right in saying there is no healer who can cure James. His only chance lies with Yanash."

Sarek froze, his expression icy. "So it is as I suspected. You have joined company with Sparn, the fool. I will not have you two disgracing our family."

It was the very reaction that Spock had expected, and he had a retort ready. "You speak to me of disgrace, yet you would stand there and let you grandson die without even trying to save him?"

Sarek's eyes flamed. His hand actually twitched at his side, as if sorely tempted to strike out.

Taking note of the unusual behavior, Spock said, "Father, are you so threatened by Yanash?"

Sarek's hand relaxed and he spoke in a weary voice. "Yanash is a threat to every Vulcan. Spock, I grieve for you and James, but you have not seen the change creeping over our world. If, in fact, you still consider yourself a student of logic, I appeal to you…"

"At the cost of my son's life?" Spock drew out his communicator. "I must go. I will see this renegade for myself and inform you of my observations. Please tell Mother that I shall return…"

oooo

A torrid gale roared across the desert, scouring Sparn and his nephew as they trudged toward the encampment where Yanash was last seen.

"It may be," Sparn confessed from the depths of his hood, "that I have been guilty of presumption. Yanash called you here because of your mother. He said nothing to me about your son."

Beside him, Spock struggled on in silence. The wind was so strong. Perhaps he had not even heard.

Sparn raised his voice. "Circumstances have aligned against us! First, the Council's ruling and Sarek's refusal to intervene! Now these sandstorms are making it impossible to communicate with Yanash! I do not like the look of this, Spock! It is getting darker! The wind is still rising! If we do not find the encampment soon….!"

Something grasped his arm. He turned and found that Spock's hooded figure had stopped. Through squinted eyes he watched his nephew consult a sensor device, saw how the sand made the readings break up.

"Are we lost?" Sparn asked him.

"This way!" Spock shouted, and turned directly into the teeth of the S'tradeh Veh storm.

They both knew what had to be done. Spock hunched against the shredding gale and started to move. Sparn gripped the waist strap of Spock's robe and followed in the relative shelter of his nephew's body. Three times they switched position. It was becoming more and more difficult to breathe. Repeatedly the wind drove them to their knees. Razor-like particles of sand sliced through their clothes and drew blood from every inch of exposed skin.

Nearing exhaustion, Sparn dropped to the ground gasping for a breath of fresh air. Sand grated in his throat. Spock sank down behind him, coughing.

 _Is this how they would end? Choked and blinded, their flesh peeled away, their bones sucked dry by the desert heat?_

Sparn's mind refused to accept it. "Yanash," he gasped. Then with the last of his strength, "Yanash! Yanash, save us!"

Though he was deep in his hood, eyes closed tight, somehow a light reached him. He looked up. A figure was moving toward them, unhooded, walking easily in the storm. Sparn's heart leaped inside him and he stammered, "Spock—look— _it is him!"_

Yanash stopped before them and raised a hand, as if to restrain the wind.

"Quiet!" he commanded.

And immediately the storm ceased.

Spock thought, _Impossible!_ _Incomprehensible! In defiance of all physical law!_ Yet with his own eyes he had seen it—eyes that should have been scoured to instant blindness by the grinding action of the sand. Now, in the ensuing stillness, time seemed to slow.

Filthy and bleeding, he struggled to his feet beside Sparn. Sand sifted from his shredded clothing, yet the young man who stood before him was unmarked by the storm.

Yanash's kind blue eyes were serene and his voice pleasingly melodic as he said, "You are safe now."

Spock swallowed against the grit in his throat. "My son is…" he began, but a fit of coughing seized him.

Sparn quickly explained. "Teacher, Spock's son is very ill. Because of a High Council ruling, the boy must remain aboard ship, in orbit."

Yanash turned his attention back on Spock. "What do you want me to do?"

Spock did not waste a moment to consult logic. "Please sir, if it is at all possible—heal him."

Yanash's eyes warmed even more as he smiled and said, "Take me to him."

Spock was already drawing out the communicator. Now that the storm had dissipated, the ship came in clearly.

"Liberty here," spoke the pilot.

"Yanash will see James," Spock reported. "Three to beam up, on my signal."

There was a long, frustrating silence.

"Do you read me?" Spock asked.

A sigh filtered through the communicator. The pilot spoke haltingly. "Sir, I'm afraid…it's too late. Your son's…gone."

Spock tightened his hold on the communicator. "…Gone?"

"Dead, sir. I'm sorry."

Spock's mind reeled. His arm dropped to his side. All the hope that had sustained him drained to emptiness, and he turned from the others.

As if from a great distance he heard Yanash say again, "Take me to him."

Spock did not react. Sparn pried the communicator from his hand and gave the command. Spock found himself beamed aboard Liberty. Sparn guided him and Yanash to the bed where James' body glowed under a stasis field.

Spock heard the sound of his wife weeping, felt the sting of her grief mingling with his own, but he could not tear his eyes from the sight of his lifeless son.

Yanash bent over the body. "Turn off the field," he said.

When no one moved, Yanash worked the control himself. Then he reached down and gently touched James' hand. Softly, as if rousing the boy from a nap, he said, "Wake up, child."

The dead eyelids seemed to twitch. Color flowed into the gray little face. Sensors jumped crazily on the readout panel above the bed.

"Oh my God," Lauren said. Tears forgotten, she rushed over and grasped the pulse point on James' wrist.

Utterly astonished, Spock watched James open his eyes, smile, and sit up. It was so far beyond all reason that his mind struggled to process the impossible images.

Yanash turned to the adults and cautioned, "Tell no one what I have done."

Spock cleared his throat. "These are no Vulcan powers. Who _are_ you?"

The gentle eyes of Yanash found him. "Don't you already know who I am?"

 _"_ _No,"_ Spock insisted. Abruptly leaving, he escaped to his cabin where he showered and put on fresh clothes. He was reclining on the bed when Lauren came in, eyes shining with joy, a protoplaser in one hand.

She sat down beside him and said, "I wondered where you went. You must be worn out." The protoplaser hummed as she happily set to work on the skin blasted raw by the sandstorm. "Jamie's stuffing himself with food. He's cured, Spock, completely free of disease for the first time in his life! That man brought him back from the dead, thanks to you."

Spock shook his head. "I did nothing."

"Lie still," Lauren ordered. The plaser began to sooth an area along his jaw. "What do you mean, you did nothing? You and your uncle risked your lives down there."

Spock thought about Yanash awakening the dead with a simple gesture, a mere word. A young life restored, a S'tradeh Veh quieted. But now there was a new storm raging—a storm of apprehension sweeping Spock's mind. He found himself in full agreement with his father's grave concern and the heavy-handed measures of the venerable High Council. Ever larger crowds of people were flocking to observe the wonders of Yanash and hear his revolutionary teachings. Were 2000 years of Vulcan reason coming to an end?

Quietly he admitted, "I fear for this world."

Lauren's hand went still and her eyes widened. "Because of _Yanash?"_

"The man is dangerous. He is no Vulcan—not as we define it—yet multitudes blindly follow him, setting aside the wisdom of generations, turning from their own culture."

"Spock. He just gave our son back to us. It's a _miracle._ "

He could not share her simplistic view. "The term 'miracle' is simply a synonym for the total absence of explanation. Science must invoke only natural causes and reference only natural law when formulating explanations."

"But isn't that denying a whole range of explanation? James was just raised from the dead by a religious leader, and you can still say there's no God?"

"Lauren, I remind you that no scientific theory can compel belief in a religious tenet. Theories that look implausible today might look more plausible tomorrow in the light of new discoveries." And he asked, "Where is Yanash now?"

She sighed. "Back on the surface with Sparn."

Sitting up, he said, "Then I must join them. But first there is something I have to do."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

As Spock's son James had been born a citizen of Vulcan, there was no great difficulty beaming him down to Space Central to have his condition re-evaluated. The healers in charge of medical clearance scanned the boy three times and conferred for nearly an hour before approving his release into the population.

Together with his son, Spock returned to ShiKahr. James had never seen the land of his Vulcan forebears. Exalting in his new-found health, he skipped and jumped and bounced beside Spock as they passed through the warm, lamp-lit streets. Spock watched the boy and pondered. It was difficult to believe that someone so full of life had been dead only hours ago.

When they arrived at Ambassador Sarek's home, James quieted and reached for his father's hand. A female attendant welcomed them and led the way to the master bedroom, as if Spock did not know it well. There on her pillows Amanda lay waiting, thin and pallid in the light of a bedside lamp.

"Gramma!" cried James. He rushed over to the bed, climbed on, and kissed her with a human exuberance that belied his Vulcanoid appearance.

"James, you look wonderful!" Amanda said, eyes sparkling. She turned to Spock. "Sarek said you were searching for Yanash. _He_ did this, didn't he?"

"Yes," Spock admitted.

Amanda's smile broadened as she studied her grandson. "It's a miracle."

There was that word again. The scientist in Spock—and the Vulcan—inwardly flinched. Judging by his mother's manner, she was fast becoming a devotee of the renegade. Levelly he said, "I want Father to see James. I would like his opinion on the matter."

Her smile faded. "When I told your father that James was healed, that you were bringing him, he made it a point to be elsewhere. Believe me, it's just as well. I've never seen him so…" She stopped and her expression grew pained. "He's deeply troubled."

Spock felt a twisting in his heart. If in fact she _was_ dying, it should be in peace, not torn by family discord. A saying of Yanash rose, unbidden, from the store of memories Spock had shared in Sparn's mind. _"This life is one of trials. You must never value peace above truth. Listen, my coming will drive a wedge between father and son, mother and daughter. My name will be the downfall of many a clan, but those who remain faithful to the truth will be rewarded."_

Faithful to the truth. As a scientist, Spock's entire life had been devoted to the truth. Clan Talek-sen-deen must not fall. With a feeling of urgency, he lifted his son from the bed and set him on his feet.

"James," he told the boy, "I need to speak privately to your grandmother. Ask the attendant to take you into the garden. She can show you blossoms that glow in the dark."

James left and closed the door behind him.

Spock turned to the fragile figure on the bed. "Mother…since boyhood I have sought the truth in all things. I feel that I must learn more about this Yanash, so for now I intend to join his followers…as an investigator only. Tell Sarek that I share his concerns and will keep him apprised of my findings."

Amanda's eyes filled with tears. She held out her hand to him and he grasped it, papery-thin skin and bones.

"I'm so glad you're staying on Vulcan," she said softly, and squeezed his fingers. "Keep an open mind. Yanash is not like your brother Sybok, you'll see. Everything he does is good. I'd be out there myself, if I were stronger. God be with you. Go…"

 _God be with you._ She knew he did not believe in a deity, yet once before she had said that to him—at age 19, when in defiance of his father's wishes, he left for Starfleet Academy. Now, bending low, Spock touched his mother's cheek and for the first time since earliest childhood found the strength to defy Vulcan custom and tell her, "I love you."

oooo

Holding his valise, Spock stood on the outskirts of Yanash's current encampment. He thought of the Liberty speeding away from Vulcan, and wondered if he had made the correct decision. He had spent the last two years of his life collecting a Starfleet pension, occasionally working as a scientific consultant, and taking on diplomatic assignments for the Federation when it suited him. Some might call it a selfish life, but it had actually involved a great deal of sacrifice for him to forego space exploration in favor of his growing family. Now he would be worlds away from his wife and children and did not know when he might rejoin them. Meanwhile their only contact would consist of subspace messages routed through his wrist phone.

But he was acting for the good of Vulcan, and with Sarek's full support. After he had spoken to his father, fully airing his concerns, Sarek agreed that it would be very useful to have an observer in Yanash's inner circle. Spock would enter the camp of Yanash as an agent of truth.

Yanash seldom visited cities anymore. As he travelled, his followers erected orderly villages of temperature-regulating tents within the safebelts. It was midday in this time zone. The ferocity of Belaar's heat had driven all but a few children indoors. Spock asked one of them for directions to the Teacher's tent. A girl looked curiously at the sand abrasions on his face before pointing toward one of the larger shelters.

Spock went inside. The interior was refreshingly cool. The pale surfaces of the tent cast a pleasant glow over the men and women dining at a large portable table.

Sparn noticed him immediately and began to rise, but Yanash waved Sparn back into his seat and came personally to greet Spock.

Yanash spread his fingers in the customary Vulcan salute and spoke a greeting of Surak that had fallen out of popular usage. "I welcome you in peace, my friend."

Raising his hand, Spock answered, "May your peace return to you." With an effort he added, "You returned my son to me, and I said nothing. I thank you now."

Yanash gave him a warm look. His hand settled over Spock's forearm, and the strangely electrifying touch seemed to seek out the empty places inside Spock. Though the sensation made him uncomfortable, he merely took note of it and did not pull away.

Quietly Yanash said, "Vulcans find it difficult to express gratitude. Always we strive to be self-sufficient and correct in every detail, so as to spare the pride. But valuable lessons can be learned from failure. The taste of humility can be very sweet—can it not? Come, join us at the table."

Yanash seated him conspicuously at his side. A Vulcan poured water and set a platter of sliced fruit within Spock's reach. But he was not interested in food. He could not seem to take his eyes off this young, powerful man who had brought James back from the dead.

"This is my nephew," he heard Sparn say, "S'chn T'gai Spock."

Spock made himself look at the others. There were nods of acknowledgement. Most would have heard of him—Ambassador Sarek's son, the captain in Starfleet, the half-human. He waited as the men and women told him their names, then turned back to Yanash.

Sparn spoke again. "Spock has sent his family home and will be staying here with us."

Addressing Yanash, Spock added, "With your permission, sir…"

Yanash's blue eyes twinkled with an amusement not ordinarily seen in Vulcans. "The scientist wishes to observe. Spock, you are most welcome—but what is it that you seek to learn?"

"The truth, sir," Spock replied. "Nothing more and nothing less."

Yanash nodded as if in approval. His steady gaze shifted to the instrument hanging by a strap from Spock's shoulder. "I see you have brought a tricorder. Go ahead, do as you wish. Analyze me."

Spock hesitated. He _had_ brought his tricorder in the hope of examining Yanash, but not in so bold a manner. Yet Yanash did not seem at all disturbed.

"Very well," Spock said. Acutely aware of the others watching him, he aimed his tricorder at Yanash and viewed the readings that appeared on its screen. His eyebrow climbed. Switching off the instrument, he squarely met the unVulcan humor in those haunting blue eyes. "It would seem that you are truly Vulcan."

"Seem?" prompted Yanash with a disconcerting smile.

oooo

For several weeks Spock travelled in the company of Yanash, closely observing the charismatic leader while sending a steady outflow of reports to his father. One day they encamped near Vulcan's Lesser Sea. It was a densely populated region. The size of the crowds became so great that Yanash climbed atop a volcanic formation in order to be seen and heard by everyone as he taught. When darkness fell, many of the people went away to their homes. After the evening meal Yanash withdrew for a time, as was his custom. Spock inconspicuously shadowed the Teacher as Yanash walked along the seashore, stopped in a secluded area, and assumed a posture of meditation on the sand.

Spock was about to contact Sarek when he heard footsteps coming his way. Seeing it was Sparn, he nodded toward Yanash and quietly said, "I should like to question him regarding his meditation technique."

"He is talking to his father," Sparn said.

Spock swung around and stared at his uncle. "I beg your pardon?"

"You have heard him say that our God is a God of love."

"Yes," Spock replied. Hearing it repeated by Sparn made him particularly uncomfortable.

Sparn continued. "Yanash also tells us that this same loving God is our Father. Therefore, logic dictates that such a Father would desire a close relationship with his children."

Spock thought of his difficult relationship with Sarek; of how deeply he desired something better between him and his own children; of the pain he experienced each time that desire was thwarted. "If God truly existed, we would be his creatures, not his children, and far too numerous to merit any of his attention."

"Yanash would say that you are placing our Vulcan limitations upon a limitless God."

"Show me this God," Spock said with some impatience.

As always these days, Sparn had an answer ready. "Spock, as a scientist you have seen Him reflected in the awesome complexity of His creation. He also revealed Himself through inspired writings such as the works of Mokavar and Spock the Uniter, for whom you were named. It was under God's guidance that Surak formulated the rules of discipline and logic. And now, in Yanash…"

"A more direct revelation?" Spock made no attempt to hold back the sarcasm. "Ah, yes…Yanash as messiah. The Shiav."

Sparn gazed at him in silence for a long moment. When at last he spoke, his voice held an unmistakable note of sympathy. "Spock, I did not come here to speak of Yanash. There has been a report. Your mother has died."

Spock experienced an upwelling of grief so intense that it swayed him. He had dismissed Yanash's grim prophecy because, each day, Sarek said she was growing stronger. What could have happened? Why had Sarek not informed him of her passing? He must be deeply shaken.

Later, when Spock felt sure of his own composure, he called his father. Amanda had suffered a cerebral hemorrhage; death was almost instantaneous. There would be a traditional dawn ceremony at Mount Seleya, but Sarek thought it best that Spock—as an apparent devotee of Yanash—not associate with other members of the family. They argued over the form of burial Sarek had chosen. Amanda was human, and Spock felt she should be interred as one. But in the end, he had no say in the matter.

oooo

Sparn did not like the look of Spock. As they arrived before dawn at Seleya, he stayed close to his nephew, but Spock was not his only concern. Yanash and three others had come with them. They stood together in the torchlight, waiting in silence for Amanda's ashes to be brought forward by the priests.

During his first month of teaching, Yanash had been cast out of this very temple. Now, as mourners gathered, Sparn noticed a subtle repositioning of temple guards. Clearly Yanash was being kept under close surveillance.

The stars were fading when Sarek arrived. Sparn was discomfited to see his estranged wife T'Prinka, as well as his daughters and their families accompanying the ambassador. Across the compound, T'Prinka briefly met Sparn's eyes, and he felt a stirring of tenderness toward her.

Sarek did not spare even a glance for his son.

The eastern sky burned red with the approach of dawn. A sudden, chilling wind set the torches flickering. White-robed attendants chanted and shook their bell-racks until Eridani's rim touched the horizon. Then, silence.

A solitary priestess came out of the temple bearing a small titanium chest. Sparn heard Spock sigh. He wondered if his nephew would go forward, as was his right, and scatter the ashes with his father. But Spock remained at Sparn's side as Sarek received the chest. Together they watched Sarek walk to the edge of the cliff and remove the lid. The wind caught Amanda's ashes and sent them streaming to the desert far below.

Sarek returned the chest and left with his retinue at once.

Sparn followed Spock over to the cliff. The wind there was stronger, colder.

Quietly Spock said, "There is nothing left. He should have taken her body home to Earth. He should have given her a grave…with grass and flowers. She loved roses, but could never grow them in this climate."

Thinking to console him, Sparn said, "Her body is gone, but your mother lives on."

Spock turned aside and retreated a few steps, where he stood alone among the pillars.

Daylight arrived. Sparn looked for Yanash and found him in another part of the compound, with a pair of kolinahru.

Yanash was berating them. "You modern kolinahru enshrine the katra and neglect the soul. I tell you that the katra is a storehouse of memories, nothing more—yet you sit and meditate before the globes at Gol, you pursue the discipline so you can commune with vrekatras as if they were gods. I tell you, it would be better if every globe in the Hall of Ancient Thought were lost, than for you to lose your immortal souls worshipping them."

One of men spoke icily. "Yanash, legal son of Norek, how do you come by your great knowledge? Are you not a computer technician? Did you acquire this marvelous new understanding from one of your associates? A Golheni? A failure? A confused half-human?"

Sparn inwardly bristled at the insults, but Yanash remained calm as he replied, "My Father instructs me, and I know what He tells me is true."

"You _know,"_ the kolinahr master scoffed. "You _know._ What is this power that you hold over people? By what method do you control their minds?"

Sparn found his nephew standing beside him, observing the scene with curiosity.

"I will answer your question," said Yanash, "if you first answer mine. You say you have rid yourselves of every trace of emotion. Yet you fear me. How can that be?"

They could not admit to fear, yet to deny their fears would have been untruthful. Trapped, the kolinahrus silently turned away.

oooo

All week Spock mourned the passing of his mother, eating and sleeping very little. He could not seem to escape the memory of her ashes on the wind—the human warmth he had once found so embarrassing, reduced to dust. In the end, he had voiced his love for her. It had taken the threat of death to drag it from him—those simple words she had longed all her life to hear.

He had always excused himself from any responsibility for her emotional needs. After all, she had chosen to wed a Vulcan, and Spock was a Vulcan son. But now it seemed to him that he had been a very poor son.

On the eighth day, Yanash passed through the northern settlement of Pashir, where Spock and his mother had spent many summers during his boyhood. As evening approached, they moved on, encamping high in the mountains of PaGol. While the others sat dining, Spock entered Yanash's tent and sat cross-legged near the door, listening.

Sparn noticed him and called out, "Nephew, come eat with us."

Spock declined. Suddenly a hooded figure entered the tent and briefly hesitated near him. A scent of perfume lingered as the figure continued on toward Yanash. There, before the Teacher, she threw back her hood, revealing a fiery cascade of hair that jogged Spock's memory.

There was no doubt as to her identity as she dropped to her knees and spoke in a tearful voice. "Lord Yanash, I want to follow you! I want to make a new life!"

Spock rose at once and hurried over. Fear flared in the young woman's eyes as she recognized him.

Standing over her, Spock said, "I know this person. She is a half-human named T'Naisa Brandt, and she is dangerous. She should be searched for weapons."

Still at table, Yanash looked up at him. "Spock, you are very quick to point out her faults."

"Among other things, her deceptions sent me to prison for a crime I did not commit."

"I don't deny it," T'Naisa cried in Standard. Although like Spock she appeared Vulcan, she had been raised to express her emotions freely. "I wish I'd never done it. I'm trying to change."

Yanash reached out and touched her tear-dampened cheek. Gazing into her eyes, he said, "T'Naisa, your sins are forgiven and you are welcome here."

The words roused Spock to anger. He coldly watched T'Naisa collapse against Yanash's knees and sob pathetically.

Yanash turned to Spock. His steady eyes seemed to find the deepest recesses of Spock's heart and see him for who he was—an unbeliever set on exposing Yanash and ending his hold on the planet. Yet his tone was as gentle as ever. "It is true that she has sinned against you." And he glanced around the table. "But who among you has not brought pain to someone else? Do not be so quick to condemn. Be quick to forgive, and you will be true sons and daughter of your Father-God."

Spock turned and strode out of the tent. Consumed by dark thoughts, he wandered alone under the stars. He had heard Yanash teaching that Vulcan hearts had become as hard as stone. His own heart felt unbearably heavy. He did not need to be reminded of the pain he had brought to others. His hand still felt the pressure of his mother's fingers when he told her that he loved her. A human's son for sixty-seven years, and he had given her but one moment of joy.

Off in the distance a LeMatya screamed with all the anguish of a tormented soul. Spock stopped and listened. It came again, the same chilling cry of summer that had sent a little halfling boy running from his bed, into the comfort of his mother's arms.

There was never a time of need when his mother had not welcomed him. Why had he left her? Had Yanash not warned that she was about to die? And the bitter thought came to him: _Why had Yanash, with all his strange power, allowed her to slip away? Because I am a skeptic?_

oooo

The fever struck suddenly in the night. Sparn awakened on the floor of the tent, breathless and confused. He felt smothered by the blanket covering him and tossed it aside. The sense of panic grew.

 _Spock! Where was Spock?_

Peering into the darkness, he found Spock lying nearby, sound asleep. The panic began to subside. After so many hostile years, he now felt only a great fondness for his nephew. It was so good to see Spock resting that he was reluctant to disturb him. And, if the truth be known, he was ashamed.

He waited an hour, shivering with fever chills in the dark. Then at last he rose, touched Spock on the shoulder, and spoke his name very softly so as not to disturb the other men sleeping in the tent. Spock woke instantly.

"Come," Sparn whispered.

Spock responded without question. They slipped on their sand boots and stepped outside. T'Khut had risen in full phase, casting her orange glow over the night. Even before Sparn could bring himself to speak, his appearance betrayed him.

"You look ill," Spock said with concern.

Sparn's embarrassment intensified. Sighing, he shook his head. "No, Spock. Not ill. But few men of my age…" His voice trailed off. He could see by Spock's expression that he understood and was dealing with some embarrassment of his own.

At last Spock said, "This…presents somewhat of a problem. Does it not?"

An understatement. T'Prinka was gone. Even if she agreed to accommodate him, it would not be the gentle reunion Sparn wished for them. Pon farr was savage in its demands. Hopefully he said, "Perhaps it will subside."

"That is a possibility," Spock agreed. Then he added, "Perhaps Yanash can be of some assistance..."

Sparn did not want to be seen by anyone in his present state. He felt betrayed by his body—dirty and degraded. "No, Spock. Not yet. For now, if you will just watch over me?"

At dawn the other men awakened and left the tent. By mid-morning, Sparn was pacing the cramped area like a nervous animal. He did not know how much longer he could resist the burning of his Vulcan blood. He no longer had the strength of youth. What would happen when his control gave way?

Humiliated, he turned to the corner where his nephew was faithfully keeping vigil and said, "Get Yanash."

Spock left at once. Alone, Sparn forced himself to lie down, but the demands of his body soon had him thrashing from side to side. Madness lurked in the corners of his mind. He closed his eyes tightly against it.

There was sound, movement. A gentle touch on his arm roused him. Yanash crouched at his side.

Desperate, Sparn reached out with trembling hands. "Master—help me!"

Yanash glanced up at Spock, who was standing close beside them. "Bring water."

Spock filled a cup from a container inside the tent and handed it to Yanash.

Holding the cup with both hands, Yanash raised his eyes upward and said, "Father, you are the Source of all good things. In your mercy bless this cup and bring relief to he who drinks it. Release Sparn from the bondage of his blood."

Yanash held the cup to Sparn's lips, and he drank. With each swallow he could feel the fire inside him cooling. Then the cup was empty, the flames quenched. Astounded, Sparn sat up…and found himself surrounded by the inner circle of disciples. The men stared, open-mouthed, as if disbelieving the evidence of their own eyes.

Sparn did not presume to understand what had been done to him; he knew only that he believed. Casting aside all dignity, he bowed low at Yanash's feet and begged, "Shiav, give us this water always."

Yanash's eyes moved from one disciple to another as he said, "I am the living water. Anyone who drinks of me will have life that is eternal. And the water that I give for you is my own blood."

Silence descended over the tent.

Spock was the first to speak. "Fascinating. A very similar statement is found in the Christian scriptures held sacred by many humans."

Yanash looked steadily at him, but did not say anything.

Spock cocked his head. "Sir, when you say you 'give your blood', do you mean that…literally?"

Yanash said, "I will go the way that has been appointed to me."

Sparn saw his own confusion and dismay reflected on the faces of the other disciples.

Sorel turned abruptly to Spock. "I know the scriptures of which you speak. Such a thing cannot happen here. There is no death penalty on Vulcan. Even if Yanash were to be arrested…"

"Arrested!" another scoffed. "Impossible. Yanash has not violated any law. Vulcan is a civilized world…."

Sparn rose. "A world whose leaders are growing uneasy. Historically, when those in power feel threatened…"

 _"_ _Feel?"_ Repeated Sorel. "Sparn, we are not humans here. Vulcan is ruled by reason, by logic…"

"It is good to hear you speak of logic," Spock interjected wryly. "I thought perhaps you had forgotten how."

The discussion continued for some time before Sparn realized that Yanash was no longer among them.

oooo

Spock had settled upon the main weakness in Yanash's organization—clearly, it was his closest followers, those whom he had begun to call his "Chosen Ones". Almost without exception they were a young, inexperienced group, given to argument and confusion.

 _"_ _Strike the shepherd and the sheep will scatter."_ With a sense of irony Spock transmitted the Biblical quote to his father before joining the others.

Since Sparn's healing, the ministry of Yanash had entered a new phase. Each night he gathered his select few for some moments of extra instruction. Together with his uncle, Spock was among those who always showed up to listen. It troubled Spock that T'Naisa Brandt also came to the tent each night—so much so, that he finally took up the matter with Yanash.

It was quite late, and everyone else had left when Spock approached the Teacher. "Sir," he said, "why do you allow T'Naisa Brandt in here with the others?"

Yanash responded sadly. "Your heart is still closed to her, but I tell you, there will come a time when you welcome T'Naisa with outstretched arms. As for now, it should not matter to you whether or not I allow her near. I include you. Is that not enough?"

Spock gave no reply. Yanash seemed to know everything. Although Spock moved freely among the disciples, he was an outsider and more—he was an _informer._ If Yanash knew, why did he permit him to remain?

Spock was turning to leave when Yanash touched him on the shoulder. Instinctively Spock stiffened his barriers against the Teacher's alluring mental energy and drew away.

"Speak your mind," Yanash urged. "This is not only about T'Naisa, is it?"

As Spock faced the enigmatic young Vulcan, his anger flared anew. "Why ask? Do you not already know the answer? You even told Sparn that my mother was about to die. I realize that I am going to sound ungrateful. After all, you restored my son to life and you relieved my uncle during his Time. Yet in my mother's case you did nothing."

The blue eyes held only a gentle reproach. "Nothing, Spock? Did I not send Sparn to forewarn you? Set aside your resentment and put your mind at ease. She is with God."

Spock could scarcely contain his frustration. _"'With God'?_ What precisely does that mean?"

"Do you not yet know?" Yanash said in response. Nothing more.

The following night, they gathered yet again.

"Yanash," said Sorel, "you speak of love, but Surak seems to tell us that logic is greater."

"What is logic without love?" Yanash replied. "Logic gives rise to reason, but love gives rise to compassion. And reason without compassion is dead." His eyes briefly settled on Spock, then moved on. "There is one among you who learned this lesson among the stars. _Simple feeling._ Without it, our lives are barren."

Spock knew that Yanash meant him, and perhaps T'Naisa did, too. Spock glanced her way; their eyes briefly met before she turned aside, blushing. It made him wonder if she might still be infatuated with him. The thought was disconcerting but short-lived as his attention returned to the conversation.

Yanash was speaking to Sorel. "…and since you have been with me from the beginning, leadership will fall to you when I am gone."

"Gone?" Sorel's cry of dismay was repeated throughout the group. "Yanash, surely you are not going to leave us!"

Solemnly Yanash said, "I have very little time left."

Now the questions came so rapidly that they overlapped. "What do you mean? Are you going somewhere? When will you come back? Can we go with you?"

Spock looked on, intently awaiting the "Master's" response.

Yanash called for silence and addressed them all. "Do not be afraid. I tell you now plainly, so that when it happens, your courage will not fail. Listen to me; soon I will be arrested. Many of you will also be arrested, but no harm will come to you."

Suddenly everyone was on their feet, talking, protesting.

Once more Yanash signaled for quiet. "I have shown you the Father's love. Trust me. Even though I die, I will not leave you."

Voices filled the tent. _"Die?"_ "Do you mean killed?" "But who would kill you?" "Such a thing cannot happen here."

Yanash waited patiently for them to subside. "My work here is almost finished. When I lie down in your place, you will know that I go willingly, because I love you. I will lay down my life, and out of my body will spring a fountain of living water."

Spock attempted to make sense of the assertion. Shortly after death, tissues began to break down and exude fluids, but a "fountain of living water"? The statement was illogical and absurd.

Yanash bid the Chosen Ones to form a circle around him. Standing aside, Spock watched the Teacher go to Sorel and gently embrace him. Slowly, silently, Yanash moved around the circle, clasping each Vulcan, meeting their embarrassment and confusion with all the calm authority of a parent.

Spock's heart pounded as Yanash suddenly turned and approached him. Their eyes met.

"No." The whispered word came unbidden from Spock. He did not want this strange man touching him, yet he could not seem to move away.

Yanash reached out and held him close, overwhelming Spock's barriers with a tsunami of love. As Yanash moved on, a peculiar thought lingered in Spock's shaken mind: _Is this what it means? Is this what it means to 'be with God'?_ But recovering his control, he firmly rejected the notion. Yanash's detractors were correct. This was clearly some form of mental manipulation, and all of Vulcan was in danger from it.

Now Yanash stood in their midst and said, "Do you understand what I have done? I have told you to touch and hold your children. Now I say: embrace one another. The fact that you are telepaths does not mean that you should hold yourselves aloof behind shielded minds. As I have given you my love, so welcome others, so that all of Vulcan will see and know that your Father is a God of love."

Without another word, Yanash turned and walked out of the tent. For an awkward moment no one moved or said anything. Then with lowered eyes Spock listened to the hushed comments begin.

"How can we do this?" "He is asking too much." "We would be ridiculed." "It is not dignified." "After all, we are Vulcans."

Never had their discord been more evident. Spock left the tent at once and called Sarek on his wrist phone. He was in the midst of a furtive conversation when T'Naisa appeared out of the dark, her eyes wide with alarm.

"Spock—what are you doing?"

He swiftly broke the connection and said, "That is no concern of yours. Stay away from me."

But she did not leave. Instead, she gazed at him so long and hard that he turned and strode into the shadows.

oooo

Though the eve of Surak's birth heralded a time of celebration throughout Vulcan, Sparn noticed that Yanash scarcely touched any of the special foods that were being prepared. Sparn had never seen the Master forego a meal. Often Yanash would accept invitations to dine with people they met during their travels. But today Yanash avoided not only the food, but even the crowd that had gathered to see him.

Late in the afternoon Yanash called his Chosen Ones together with Sparn and Spock, whom he always allowed near him. They boarded three skimmers lent to them for the day by locals and withdrew to a remote area of nearby Ar-Bekani Preserve. There, Yanash sat down amid the volcanic mud pots and gathered the men around him—all but Spock, who had wandered off by himself. And they waited. _Why? Was Spock's presence somehow important?_

Sparn wondered if someone had carried last night's remarks to the Master, and if Yanash had chosen this lonely place to express his disappointment in them.

There was a sound of sand boots and as Spock returned with tricorder in hand, Yanash asked him, "Have you finished with your business?"

Spock's eyebrow climbed. "Yes," he replied, and took his usual place beside Sparn.

Now, with everyone assembled, Yanash began to speak. "Listen to me carefully, for soon I will no longer be with you."

"But Master—" Sorel began to object.

"Silence," said Yanash. "Have you no faith? Open your hearts and your minds to me, and do not be troubled. You have seen the works that I have done, and through you my work will continue if only you believe in me. An hour of great darkness is coming. You will experience sorrow and confusion, but know that I will see you again. In that day you will rejoice and everything will become clear to you."

Yanash looked at each of them in turn. "Take heed, for pride is the sin from which all evil flows, Learn humility. Do not judge one another, but bear all things with the same love that I have shown you. This is how everyone will know that you belong to me—if you value the practice of love even above logic."

After he had spoken these words, he asked that a cup of water be brought to him. Taking the red crystal goblet into his hands, he lifted his eyes to the evening sky and said, "Father, I have completed the work that you gave me to do. Now I am praying for these men because I am returning to you, but they must remain behind. I have revealed the truth to them, that you are a loving Father. Yet there is one here who still prefers darkness over the light. Keep them _all_ under your protection; make them united even as we are united, and preserve them from every evil."

Raising the cup, he continued, "Loving Father, accept this life-giving gift of water and consecrate it in my name. May it sanctify all who receive it in faith." With his gentle eyes upon them, he said, "Take, all of you, and drink. This is my blood that will be poured out for you, the cup of everlasting salvation. My Chosen Ones, do this in my memory, always."

Solemnly the crystal cup passed from hand to hand. Then, at the bidding of Yanash, Sorel then offered the cup to Sparn. Clearly this was no ordinary water, for it left him feeling closer than ever to the Master. Very carefully he handed the cup to his nephew, hoping the "living water" would awaken Spock's faith in the Shiav. But when Spock declined to drink, Sparn himself finished the last precious drops.

Yanash bowed his head. He covered his face with his hands and openly struggled with his emotions. Rising, he walked away and lingered alone in the shadow of a skimmer.

Sparn cast an uneasy glance at the others, and his eyes came to rest on Spock. _Who among them preferred darkness over light?_ His nephew's face was stony.

A heavy silence stretched until the first stars appeared in the sky. Suddenly Sparn became aware of a faint hum, like a distant swarm of insects.

The hum was growing louder when Yanash returned to them and calmly said, "It is time. Be in peace, my children."

Military transports lifted over the ridge and descended upon them in a stinging whirl of sand. Shielding his eyes, Sparn struggled to his feet. The noise subsided. The sand had barely begun to settle when hatches hissed open, releasing a flood of armed Vulcan police. In an instant they had everyone surrounded and locked into energy cuffs.

"What is the meaning of this?" Sparn demanded. "We have not violated any laws."

A police officer grasped him by the neck and held a scanner up to his eyes. He checked the reading and said, "Here is one of them."

The same officer scanned Spock and said, "This is the other."

"The other?" repeated Sparn. "For what crime are we being arrested?"

Every member of the group had gone under the scanner. Yanash was taken aboard one transport, and his followers herded toward another.

An officer returned to Sparn and uncuffing him, said, " _You_ are not under arrest." Then he released Spock as well.

The transports roared into the sky, dipped over the ridge, and disappeared. When the air cleared, Sparn and Spock stood alone upon the sand.

For a moment Sparn was too shaken to speak. Then finding his voice, he said, "This is an outrage!"

He looked at his nephew. Darkness was gathering, but for now he could clearly see the distant look in Spock's eyes.

"Why were _we_ not taken?" Sparn asked.

Spock gave no reply.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

The hour was unusually late in ShanaiKahr, where an emergency session of Vulcan's High Council was brought to order behind locked doors. From their lofty dais the Council of Ten, chaired by the ancient T'Gora, gazed down upon the seats where the High Priestess T'Lar and Marek the Grand Master of Kolinahr waited with their companions.

T'Gora inconspicuously signaled to an attendant, who struck a ceremonial gong. Then opening the session, she announced, "We are gathered here to consider a matter of grave importance. The decision rendered here tonight will affect all of Vulcan. This past year we have witnessed a dangerous erosion of our culture resulting from the revolutionary teachings of T'rel N'hor Yanash. We have all agreed that it cannot be allowed to continue. T'rel N'hor Yanash has been taken into custody. Now this is the question before us: what is to be done with him?"

She nodded at the red-robed bailiff standing to one side of the dais. A door opened. A pair of armed Council guards escorted the handcuffed prisoner to the center of the chamber, then took up station beside the bailiff.

Yanash faced the Council. Although his clothes were dusty, his hair uncombed, he projected a calm majesty that his accusers found disturbing.

The gaze leveled upon him by T'Gora was scathing. "The prisoner will identify himself," she commanded.

"I am T'rel N'hor Yanash," he replied, "son of Norek, son of Tarel."

"Do you consider yourself a son of Surak?"

"I am," Yanash said.

"Surak's teachings promote orderly conduct, yet you have created disorder among the populace. Do you deny it?"

Yanash answered, "Surak's teachings are intended to promote truth. That is also my intention."

T'Gora's hooded eyes studied him. "What is this 'truth' you teach?"

"That our God is a God of love."

"God?" said a kolinahru.

Yanash turned toward him.

The kolinahru continued coldly, "That which you call 'God' cannot be proven to exist, but we do know that love is an emotion. Surak teaches that logic is superior to emotion. Therefore your teaching of love is flawed and inferior. By your own admission you are guilty of promoting an erroneous doctrine."

Yanash was silent.

A priest of Seleya spoke. "There have been reports that you heal with only a touch and even restore life to the dead. Is it true?"

"Ask those who have witnessed it," Yanash responded.

The priest quietly consulted with his companions before saying, "If you do not deny these acts, then tell us this. By what power do you heal and restore life?"

"The power of healing and life belong to God alone," replied Yanash.

"Then logic dictates that no Vulcan can hold such power. Your statements are conflicting and illogical. You must stop deluding the public immediately and make a formal confession of error."

Yanash's composure was unshaken. "It is you who are deluded. If you release me, I will continue to speak the truth."

"What do you know of truth? You are undereducated, your mind untrained, your behavior undisciplined."

The High Priestess T'Lar spoke. "A probe would reveal the state of his mind. Yanash, would you submit to a mind probe?"

"Though I would not advise it," Yanash said, "you may do as you please."

The Council conferred in low tones and concluded that such a probe would be useful. T'Lar petitioned the Grand Master of Kolinahr. With a courtly nod, Marek left his seat and approached Yanash. For a moment they stood eye to eye, then slowly Marek raised an arm and reached out. His long fingers settled on the prisoner's face. For a moment Marek's expression grew distant…

Then he screamed.

The guards rushed forward, stopping short as Marek collapsed at their feet, his face contorted with some nameless agony.

Yanash gazed sadly upon the suffering kolinahru and said, "His mind has been blinded by the light, but he will recover."

From all sides the Vulcans stared at Yanash, and many of their faces were quite pale.

T'Gora of the High Council spoke in a taut voice. "We have seen enough. Remove the prisoner. Help the Grand Master to the healer's chamber."

After Yanash and Marek were taken away, she dismissed the guards and bailiff. A heavy silence hung over the gathering.

At last, very quietly, T'Gora said, "On Vulcan there is no mind greater than Marek's, yet we all saw the damage inflicted upon him. The law is clear in such cases. The criminal must be censured and permanently exiled from Vulcan."

"If he were sent into exile," noted a fellow Councilman, "there is a high probability that a great many Vulcans would follow."

"I agree," said another from the dais. "We could be faced with a schism as damaging as the Romulan departure."

"Incarceration is an alternative," came the response, "but as you say, this one's following is large and loyal. If we keep him imprisoned, they may rise up in revolt and free him."

"A revolution…" T'Gora voiced the one concern uppermost in everyone's minds. It was for this reason they had come together, secretly, at such an unusual hour.

In the deep of the night they felt their hold on their power slipping.

At last the old priestess T'Lar said, "There is only one solution. Yanash must die."

Heads turned, eyebrows rose in consternation.

T'Gora remarked from the dais, "I remind you that Vulcan has no capital punishment."

 _"_ _Modern_ Vulcan," agreed T'Lar. "But this Yanash teaches a return to many of the old ways. Therefore I say, let him perish in the old way—slowly, with much pain, so that everyone will see that his power is not without mortal limits."

The images conjured by her words were so horrifying that no one spoke for a full minute.

Then T'Gora said, "The Henidd?"

T'Lar gave a single, sober nod.

Beside her, the priestess T'Sorr rose to her feet. "I object! It is barbaric for a Vulcan to consider torture. We are a people subject to laws. If in fact Yanash has violated any law, he is entitled by that same law to legal representation at a public trial. If he is found guilty, he must receive the sentence prescribed by law, regardless of the consequences to ourselves."

Without looking at her, T'Lar coldly said, "It is Vulcan that will suffer the consequences; it is Vulcan we must preserve. Although I, too, regret the need for such tactics, there is a surprisingly logical human axiom that applies well to our current situation. 'The end justifies the means'."

"Have we become humans?" T'Sorr asked, and then sank into her seat.

The discussion continued. Shortly after midnight T'Gora received the healer's report on the Grand Master's condition. Grimly she announced, "Marek's mind is destroyed. That alone is sufficient to convict Yanash. Whatever its source, his power is clearly treacherous. For the good of Vulcan, he cannot be permitted to live."

After polling the priests of Seleya and the kolinahru masters for their opinions, the High Council delivered its legal decision. Since every member of that esteemed body concurred with T'Lar, there remained only to settle a few delicate matters of procedure. Then the prisoner was returned to the chamber.

T'Gora regarded Yanash through narrowed lids. "T'rel N'hor Yanash, you have been found guilty of destroying Master Marek's mind, of perverting the teachings of Surak, and promoting disorder among the populace. It is the decision of this Council that you be sent immediately to Mount Seleya, and there suffer a death fitting for your crimes."

Yanash received the sentence with equanimity.

Once more the priestess T'Sorr rose up. "I protest!"

As her words rang through the chamber, Yanash turned around and met T'Sorr's eyes. Then the guards converged on him and he was removed to the Council transporter.

oooo

Spock piloted a skimmer through the night while his uncle sat quietly at his side. Sparn had been outraged at the guerilla-like seizure at Ar-Bekani and the humiliation at having been passed over. Though Spock had tried for hours to dissuade him, Sparn insisted they travel to ShanaiKahr in the hope that the others had been taken to the capital.

Reaching for the dash, Sparn tuned in a news channel. A bulletin announced Yanash's arrest and went on to detail his crimes. "A conviction came swiftly," said the reporter. "Due to the gravity of the charges, the High Council of Elders has invoked an ancient penalty. The self-proclaimed teacher and healer has been carried off to Mount Seleya for execution."

Spock's fingers clenched the controls and his heart froze.

 _"_ _Execution!"_ Sparn exclaimed. "The report must be in error. In any case, no trial could proceed so quickly."

"Surely not," Spock faintly agreed.

"He tried to tell us that he was going to die. God help us—this cannot be happening. Yanash will not allow it. But change course, Spock—hurry! We must go to Seleya!"

Spock did not bother to point out the contradiction in his uncle's statement. Just now his own thoughts were something less than logical. Again and again they returned to Yanash's strange warning. _When I lie down in your place…when I lie down…_

Spock was aware of only one ancient penalty of death that involved a prone position. Dread knotted his stomach and for a moment he thought he would be ill. Turning toward Mount Seleya, he pressed the skimmer for more speed.

oooo

Up ahead, Mount Seleya loomed like a dark fortress against the stars. Spock banked the borrowed skimmer sharply and settled among the other vehicles at the base of the mountain. Today the temple would be crowded with pilgrims honoring the birth of Surak. Would there also be an execution? Driven by a sense of urgency, he shut down the engine and snapped open his door.

His uncle's words stopped him. "Wait, Spock! Now that we are here, what will we do? We are only two men, with no authority…"

Spock scarcely hesitated. Unwilling to acknowledge the utter hopelessness of the situation, he said, "We will do all that we can."

Then he was out the door, running. He reached the unrailed stair path carved into the mountainside and his pace hardly slowed. Leaving Sparn far behind, he recklessly skipped steps and charged past startled pilgrims until he arrived at the reception court. There he bypassed the public area and ascended a torturously steep path reserved for the Seleyan priests and their initiates. Winded, his leg muscles burning, he emerged into the private compound and came to an abrupt halt.

He took a moment to regain his composure and observe the activity in the lighted courtyard. The meditative atmosphere normal for this area was tangibly disturbed. Priests and priestesses stood about conferring in small groups. Despite a large number of temple guards, no one seemed to have noticed his arrival.

Then Spock stepped forward. Immediately two guards spied him, rushed over, and barred his way with their lirpas. A priest who had attended a boyhood academy with Spock approached him and coolly noted his breathless, disheveled appearance.

"This area is restricted," Dalek warned. "Surely you are aware of that."

Spock held his ground and said, "I must see T'Lar at once."

Dalek peered down his nose at him. "T'Lar is presently occupied. The priestess T'Sorr has fallen from a cliff path to her death—a most unfortunate accident."

"Then I shall wait," Spock said.

"Impossible."

Spock attempted to muscle his way past the guards, but the lirpas moved swiftly. Circular, razor-sharp blades found his throat. He went still.

Dalek said, "These guards will escort you to the visitor's center and see that you do not stray into forbidden areas again."

Spock backed away from the blades' pressure. He was powerless against the forces at work here, yet he could not leave without making his protest known. He raised his voice so that everyone in the courtyard could hear. "Tell T'Lar: we are a Federation planet! Her treatment of Yanash is in violation of sentient rights and an affront to moral decency! Tell her that I shall protest to the Vulcan High Council! I shall protest to Federation President Ra-ghoratrei! Tell her…" The cudgel end of a lirpa jabbed his stomach and he doubled over in pain.

"Remove him," the priest said.

oooo

Long before dawn, preparations for the Henidd were underway. T'Lar was determined that there be no delay. Time enough later to officially mourn T'Sorr's unfortunate "fall". Her shattered body had been recovered from the base of the cliff quietly, quickly, so as not to disturb the kolinahru researching the Golheni death ritual. On their advice, a fitting site was chosen—the great meditation ledge low on the eastern face, where ancients had carried out their own bloody sacrifices. The site was accessible by stair path and could easily be viewed from both the visitors' and priests' courtyards. Spotlights were trained upon the ledge, long spikes embedded by a construction expert into the solid rock. When all was ready, T'Lar inspected the site and approved.

As morning approached, T'Lar's healer went to the room where Yanash was held under guard. Unlike the priests she served, T'Annel was a woman of unusual compassion. She disliked the task that had fallen to her. While preparing the injection, she had considered refusing to administer it. But had she refused, they would simply have brought in a more cooperative healer.

T'Annel entered the prisoner's chamber and found him sitting on a bed, his arms locked behind him in energy cuffs. Feeling a stirring of pity, she carefully avoided his eyes. A guard pulled up the prisoner's sleeve, exposing a strong, youthful arm. T'Annel placed her sprayhypo to his skin, but her finger froze against the trigger. She considered how she might spare him, perhaps by delivering only a partial dose of the drug that would disable the brain's center of pain control. Glancing up, she looked into his placid blue eyes and her heart behaved strangely.

"T'Lar will demand your thoughts," he told her in a kind voice. "It is necessary that you fulfill your obligation…but know, my child, that I forgive you."

T'Annel's fingers trembled as she pressed the trigger. With a snakelike hiss the drug flooded into his bloodstream. It was a terrible thing she was doing—cruel, unforgiveable. He would go to his death defenseless against the agony, yet this strange man who called her "my child" was willing to forgive her.

Tears blurred T'Annel's vision as she turned and left the room, only to find T'Lar waiting for her.

The sentiment that the old priestess found in her healer's mind displeased her; nevertheless, the job was done. Within the hour T'Lar called her chosen observers to the assembly chamber. They stood as stiff and silent as pillars while the prisoner was brought in. There was no need for words. The guards had been well-instructed and they knew exactly how to proceed.

A doubled rope hung from a hook that had been specially set in the stone ceiling. Yanash was positioned beneath it, his handcuffs removed, his clothing stripped away. The guards bound his hands with the rope and pulled the end until the prisoner's heels left the floor. When he was strung up securely, the beating began.

T'Lar watched without emotion as two strong men methodically lashed the prisoner with bundle-whips. The knotted cords were designed to maximize pain without tearing too deeply into the flesh. It was necessary that some blood be drawn, but not enough to unduly weaken the condemned man. Death would come later, slowly.

T'Lar could see that Yanash was having difficulty with the pain. He shuddered as the whips struck front and back, high and low. All his skin began to look tender and raw.

Without turning her head, she spoke to Dalek beside her. "Now Vulcan will see; they will see what has become of their Shiav's power."

Dalek edged closer. His voice was little more than a whisper. "Tonight Ambassador Sarek's son made a disturbance in the priests' courtyard. He is threatening to create political complications with the Federation. He should have been arrested with the others."

T'Lar's lips tightened perceptibly. "So Sarek's son has turned from informer to advocate. The Federation dares not dictate the internal affairs of a charter planet. Vulcans rule Vulcan. As for Spock—I should never have performed the fal-tor-pan on a half-human. If Spock persists in his aberrant behavior, it may become necessary to make additional mental adjustments."

oooo

In Seleya's crowded visitor center, Spock made an urgent series of calls on his wrist phone while Sparn stood nearby. No member of Vulcan's High Council could be reached. Next, he contacted Vulcan Federation Headquarters, only to be informed by a recording that the bureau would be closed for the holiday.

"Try Starfleet," Sparn suggested.

Spock sighed and shook his head. "It is out of their jurisdiction."

There remained one last, impossibly slim hope. Spock withdrew from his uncle to a more a private place. Alone, he ordered up his father's number. Although the hour in ShiKahr was still early, the image of Sarek that appeared on the tiny screen was impeccably dressed and groomed. The ambassador's eyes caught sight of Spock and narrowed.

"Father," Spock said urgently.

"Spock," Sarek replied in his usual calm manner.

Spock spoke in a low tone. "Father, are you aware of the events here at Seleya? I ask you to put a stop to this outrage. You have influence with the Council. Perhaps they will grant a stay of execution until the matter is properly reviewed."

Sarek's features were stony as he said, "There is not stopping it."

"No stopping it?" Spock struggled for control. "Try, Father! I know you respect the laws of our people."

Sarek looked pained. "Unusual times…call for unusual measures. The good of the many, Spock. You yourself have said it." And at that, he broke the connection.

Spock remained as he was for three full minutes. High up in the priests' courtyard, a gong began to sound. A deep, resonant chanting rose in honor of Surak's birth.

"Dawn," Sparn said to his nephew, sick at heart. He could only hope that Spock was wrong; that Yanash would not be subjected to some frightful Golheni torture.

Since completing his calls, Spock had descended into a dark mood, but now he roused himself. Shadowed by guards, they went out into the warm morning air. The courtyard was packed with pilgrims, but it soon became clear that not all of them had come to honor Surak.

A cry arose at the eastern wall. "There! They are bringing him down. I see him now."

Sparn headed toward the voice and Spock slowly followed in the path cleared by him. They reached the low stone wall. Sparn looked over the sheer edge of the cliff. Priests and temple guards carrying torches were working their way along a trail. By the pale light of dawn he saw Yanash walking with them, holding something heavy in his hands. The grim procession came to a plateau and stopped. Floodlights switched on, illuminating the sledgehammer Yanash was carrying.

Sparn shuddered in horror.

Nearby a man spoke in a cool, sarcastic tone. "The great healer Yanash. Now we will see if he can heal himself."

Sparn swung around and confronted him. "Be silent! Have you no conscience?"

The Vulcan raised a superior eyebrow. "You seem very emotional. Are you one of Yanash's devotees?"

Sparn felt Spock touch him in warning. Of course, they should not be drawing attention to themselves. But as they turned back to the scene below, Spock spoke into his ear, "Only the dead feel no compassion. To think that I once longed to be a kolinahru…"

Voices chanted on the morning wind. The gong rang in mournful, measured tones as Yanash surrendered his clothes. Already the day was lighter, and one could see that his shivering body had been savaged by a beating. Without a struggle he lay down on the hard stone. A guard positioned his right hand over one of four spikes. The sledgehammer swung; Yanash cried out, writhing in agony as blood spurted green.

Sparn was marginally aware of Spock leaving the scene, but he could not bring himself to move. Averting his face, he bit his lip until the hammering and the cries subsided; but still, somehow, he heard them and realized that those terrible sounds would never fade from his memory.

When he was sure of his control, he turned and looked again. Eridani loomed red and angry at the horizon. Its first deceptively pleasant rays shone upon the ledge where Yanash lay spread-eagled, hands and feet impaled. In an hour's time the heat would begin to burn. Drawn by the scent of blood, scavenging insects would find Yanash and swarm over him, biting and tearing at his unprotected flesh. Before the day was over, he would be eaten alive.

Spock spent the morning in a shaded retreat on the far side of the courtyard. A steady stream of Vulcans took part in the deathwatch—unmoved, critical not of this outrage against justice, but of Yanash. What had become of his many followers? The countless Vulcans he had taught, counseled, and healed? _Strike the shepherd and the flock will scatter._ Now Spock saw his own words coming to fruition, and there was no pleasure in it. Guilt slashed at him for his part in the Teacher's arrest. He had never intended for anything like this to happen.

At noon he went to the wall and forced himself to look downward. Though it seemed impossible, there were still signs of life in Yanash's ravaged remains. With each spasm and gasp, Spock seemed to feel the torture in his own body. Surely Yanash would find release soon.

Sparn appeared at Spock's side.

"His mother," Sparn said, indicating a sorrowful woman keeping vigil at the wall.

Spock did not plan to move, but his feet seemed to walk of their own accord. Reaching her, he said low, "I did it. I am the one."

The woman looked at him. There was no condemnation in her eyes as she touched his arm and said, "Whatever you have done, he will forgive you."

 _"_ _He will forgive you?" How could a dead man forgive anyone?_

Spock turned and walked away. The gong tolled all through the afternoon, but he dared not visit the wall again. Was Yanash still alive? What manner of Vulcan was he? Now and then, fury came at Spock in white-hot waves, and he felt capable of killing Yanash himself, just to end the suffering. Perhaps the temple guards sensed his emotional state, for they continued to follow everywhere, silent and watchful, never allowing him a moment's privacy.

He was pacing the stone floor when a chilling, desolate cry came from below the cliff. He stopped, his heart torn. In a moment voices untouched by emotion were carrying the news through the courtyard.

"So it ends." "He lived as a Golheni; it is only just that he died as one." "This is a great day for Surak."

With a feeling of utter desolation, Spock sank down on a bench and wept.

oooo

Today, more than ever, Sparn had felt his age creeping up on him. The hours spent watching Yanash agonize had been so wrenching that by evening he was utterly drained. As lights came on in the courtyard, he went over to the bench where his nephew had sat, hunched over, for hours.

As Sparn put a hand on Spock's shoulder, the touch intensified his own feelings of grief. Softly he said, "T'teer…nephew…there is no logic in remaining here. Yanash is gone."

Spock slowly lowered his hands and raised his head. His brown eyes stared vacantly.

Breaking the contact between them, Sparn added, "By morning there will be nothing but bones. His mother asked for them, but was refused even that. Come," he urged, "Get up, we are leaving."

Spock rose from his state of shock. Together they descended the steep stair path, but this time Sparn led the way and settled in behind the skimmer's controls. It would be a long flight to his home in Tareel, and the energy feed showed signs of malfunctioning.

Another fact made him equally uneasy. The skimmer belonged to neither him nor Spock. Like those others left behind at Ar-Bekani, they had been lent by camp followers for the day. By now it was entirely possible that the skimmer had been reported missing, even stolen.

As he flew along, a news bulletin declared that the "Yanashites" had disbanded and were returning to their homes. In all parts of the planet, Vulcans were once again embracing the way of Surak.

Sparn turned off the speaker. Beside him, Spock was very quiet as the miles rushed by.

At last Sparn said, "I keep thinking of Sorel and all the others who were arrested. What do you suppose will happen to them?"

Spock's tone was bitter. "Where law is disregarded, anything is possible."

The skimmer gave out on a stretch of safebelt outside Kreb. Abandoning it, they walked the remaining distance to town and there bought public passage to Tareel. They arrived at Sparn's home shortly before dawn. Sparn took a quick turn in the fresher and collapsed into bed, but he doubted that either he or his nephew would be sleeping well.

oooo

At sunrise T'Lar led a small, solemn procession to the ledge where the renegade had been executed. The flesh-eaters had done a thorough job of stripping the bones. She watched the last of the night feeders skitter away from the skeleton, then signaled for the bones to be taken up.

Beside her, Dalek said, "His mother is still asking for him."

T'Lar gave no heed to the patient woman watching from atop the cliff. Her attention remained focused on the attendants enshrouding the skeleton in a thick, white blanket. "There will be no relics to venerate," she pronounced, "no shrine to celebrate his errors. Not even a katra remains."

Her eyes settled on the bloodstained rock and she pointed with a bony finger. "This must be cleansed until no mark is left. Remove the spikes, also. It must be as if he had never lived."

"Or died?" The voice came from the healer T'Annel.

T'Lar gave her a probing look and followed her movements as the procession ascended the stair path to the priests' compound. They paused there to light torches. Then the bones were carried deep into the mountain where the ancients were buried before cremation became the custom. The air in the tunnel was cool and stale. The sounds of their footsteps echoed. At last they came to an unused tomb-hole cut halfway up a stone wall.

"Here," T'Lar ordered.

The guards lifted their burden to shoulder level and shoved it deep into the dusty, web-filled opening. Then a tomb cap was set in place and permanently locked.

Satisfied, T'Lar touched the minds of everyone present, extracting from them a death-vow of secrecy. Last of all she came to T'Annel. As she reached for the healer, T'Annel drew back. T'Lar gazed at the healer and ordered the others to leave the tunnel. Lit by the glow of their torches, T'Lar and T'Annel faced one another.

"Give me your thoughts," T'Lar demanded.

The healer held still. "No. I am not of your priesthood."

"What is this renegade to you?" T'Lar questioned. "Are you a Yanashite—you, who sent him to his death in agony?"

T'Annel winced. Turning her face aside, she said, "There is much that I need to consider. I will remain here for a time, by the tomb."

"As you wish," T'Lar said.

Her footsteps retreated into the distance; the faint flickering of her torch was swallowed by blackness. Alone now, T'Annel stood alongside the unmarked tomb and her fingers tightened on her torch.

"T'Lar spoke rightly," she whispered. "I sent you to your death in agony. My hand, no other. You knew what I was doing…yet you forgave me. That is not logical. But even if I were to accept your forgiveness, how then can I forgive myself?"

For hours T'Annel wrestled the problem without coming any closer to a solution. Her torch began to burn low and she was growing cold. Reluctantly she left the tomb and headed down the tunnel. Coming to the first in a series of thick metal doors, she pressed the latch plate.

Nothing happened.

A stirring of fear sidled through her stomach. Again she pressed the plate, harder.

Still nothing.

Setting down her torch, she put both hands to the latch plate and shoved with all her strength.

The door remained tightly shut.

Panic threatened to close in on her, but she resisted. Ceasing her struggles, she picked up the failing torch. And it came to her that after all, this might not be so terrible a thing. By her injection she had condemned Yanash to a painful death. Now that T'Lar had condemned her, T'Annel saw an opportunity to accept her own death in a spirit of recompense.

She only hoped that her courage would not fail.

oooo

At midday Spock awoke from a fitful sleep, went into the living room, and scrolled through the messages on his wrist phone. There were urgent demands from Sarek and a single call from his wife on Earth expressing deep concern over Spock's recent lack of communication. It was comforting to see Lauren and hear her voice again. All was well at their home in San Francisco. Teresa missed him, and James remained in the best of health. Simon was having difficulty coping with the loss of the prestigious Statler award and his favorite violin, but with Simon that was to be expected.

Spock froze Lauren's recorded image and stared at it for several minutes. Finally he began a response. "Lauren. By now you may have heard that Yanash…has been executed." Fresh guilt surged up as he sought words to describe the recent, unspeakable events. "The atrocities that I witnessed yesterday are…" _Entirely my fault?_ He could not continue. Putting the message on hold, he turned to find his uncle walking into the room.

Sparn looked as if he had aged thirty years. Clearly disheartened, he said, "I know that you did not believe Yanash was the Shiav, and perhaps you were right, but you cannot deny that he was a man of great power and wisdom."

"Yes," Spock quietly agreed.

"Surak took us from barbarism to civilization, but as time went on, the ever-increasing severity of the Surakians' strictures created a new form of bondage. Yanash offered something more. He offered us a richer emotional and spiritual life, and they murdered him. What now, Spock? According to all reports, the followers have disbanded. Yanash was a great man…but he is gone. When Yanash died, it would seem that his work died with him."

Spock nodded. "Even if his disciples are released, it would be suicidal for them—or for you—to openly promote the teachings of Yanash."

"I fear you are correct," Sparn said. "Yet if asked, I will not deny my involvement with the Master. He was no criminal, Spock. They had no right to kill him."

As the day wore on, Spock attempted to rise above his depression and finish his message to Lauren. "I am having difficulty assimilating the horror of what I witnessed yesterday at Mount Seleya. I cannot believe that the powers Yanash possessed were in any way supernatural. It is only that we did not understand them. He was not a god, but a man—and any man is entitled to justice under the law. Upon my return, I intend to pursue every avenue of protest against the Vulcan High Council and the Seleyan priesthood. Their actions in this matter were abominable."

For now, he did not tell her of his own part in Yanash's death. As he considered his next sentence, a chime sounded at the door. He turned in his chair and met the eyes of his uncle who was seated across the room. There was still a strong possibility that they would be arrested.

The chime came again, followed by an insistent knocking. Sparn rose and opened the door. His face registered surprise and he quickly brought Sorel inside. Sorel was the first of Yanash's Chosen Ones to be freed. As if by prearrangement, others arrived. By evening all had found their way to Sparn's house, along with T'Naisa and a few other followers.

The solemn, shaken group seated themselves around the floor and plied Spock and his uncle with questions about Yanash's execution. In turn, those who had been arrested gave accounts of their confinement and interrogation. Though no formal charges had been leveled, they were ordered to disband and cautioned against spreading the "dangerous Yanashite errors".

As darkness settled in, T'Naisa and another woman received Sparn's permission to prepare a meal. Before long they were passing out dinner, and the aroma of the food finally awakened Spock's hunger.

T'Naisa came to Spock's corner carrying two plates, and handed him one. He did not like being served by her. Nevertheless he accepted the food, but when she settled on the floor beside him, he started to move.

She quickly reached for his arm, not quite touching him. "No," she softly pleaded in Standard. "Stay. Hear what I have to say."

Spock relented and for a moment they ate in awkward silence.

Then T'Naisa bowed her head over her plate and said in a voice meant only for his ears, "You have every reason to dislike me. I deliberately harmed you and your family. I have no right to ask for your forgiveness. I don't deserve it."

Spock's heart remained hardened toward her. "You have spoken truly. You _don't_ merit any forgiveness." Rising, he removed himself from the young woman's presence, but all the while he wondered how she—how any them—would react if they knew he had been involved in their Shiav's arrest. The sooner he left here, the better.

oooo

T'Annel's inner timesense told her that she had been trapped in the cool tunnel for 33 hours, but it seemed a great deal longer. The torch had guttered away quickly, depriving her of both light and warmth. Alone in the blackness, she huddled beneath Yanash's tomb and shivered. She was thirsty, and the mental technique for reserving body heat seemed to be losing its effectiveness, but what right had she to complain after consigning a man to hours of death-agony?

Leaning back against the tunnel wall, she closed her eyes, for she had discovered that doing this eased the sense of total blindness. She focused her attention on the faint noises she occasionally heard; scurries and scuttling of tiny creatures that lived deep in the earth…perhaps even creatures that had fed on Yanash…creatures that would soon be feeding on her dead body.

Suddenly there came a sound like a clap of thunder. With a start, she peered into the impenetrable darkness and had scarcely drawn a breath before a rumbling began. It grew louder and louder. Then the world began to shake violently.

Rocks fell from the tunnel ceiling and crashed around her. Dirt sifted through the air. Coughing, she crouched down and put her hands over the back of her neck for some protection. And in her terror she lost track of the minutes. _Two? Three?_

With a sharp, wrenching jolt the quaking ended, but smaller stones continued to pelt down.

Then, silence.

T'Annel heard the anxious sound of her own breathing, and cautiously began to raise her head. Light burst upon her eyes, warm and sweet and radiant. _Had the mountain cracked wide open?_ But this was no red-hued Vulcan daylight; this was not any form of illumination she had ever observed.

Her vision focused. A shining figure stood beside an open tomb. Light spilled from his clothing. His beautiful face shone as he gazed down upon her.

"T'Annel," he said kindly, "do not be afraid. It is I…Yanash."

Dumbstruck, she stared at him.

He extended his hand toward her. She clearly saw the wounds left by the spikes that had impaled him, and for the first time since earliest childhood she began to weep. With tears of joy she drew his warm, living hand to her lips and kissed it repeatedly. Bending low, she buried her face in the hem of his radiant robe.

"Slay me," she sobbed brokenly, "for I…I do not deserve to live!"

Reaching down, he gently drew her to her feet.

T'Annel did not consider questioning her sanity. The supernatural reality confronting her was beyond any question her world-bound mind could possibly conceive. It was enough that Yanash was here and she was here with him.

"Come," he said, "there is work to be done."

T'Annel let herself be led through the earthquake rubble. At tunnel's end the heavy metal door opened easily at Yanash's touch, and they continued through several junctions until they reached the main tunnel exit. There Yanash turned to her and said, "Care for the injured. For now, speak of what you have seen only to Marek."

"Marek?" she questioned. "But…his mind…."

"Go now," Yanash urged.

T'Annel nodded. Wiping the tears from her face, she opened the door. The adjoining foyer was empty and seemed undamaged, but shouts could be heard from the outer compound. Crossing the foyer, she stepped out into a scene of devastation. Main support pillars had collapsed, dropping an entire section of the priests' quarters. All those not seriously injured were rushing about, tossing aside the manageable pieces of rubble. Emergency workers began to transport directly into the courtyard.

Dalek spotted her and hurried over. "T'Lar was inside," he said in a taut voice.

T'Annel looked at the collapsed building and thought of T'Lar's aged body pinned under tons of rock. _How could she possibly be alive?_

Her healer's instinct reviving, she said, "The emergency crew will use sensors to locate her. If there is still life, they will transport her directly to the hospital."

She noticed a small gash bleeding on Dalek's wrist. She brought him over to a bench and took a protoplaser from the medical pouch that she always kept at her waist. Though her hands trembled, the wound closed easily. She was wiping away the blood when she caught a sharp, pleasant scent rare on this arid mountain. As she lifted her face, she seemed to feel a bit of moisture in the air.

"Water?" she questioned.

"A result of the earthquake," Dalek said. He pointed to the eastern perimeter of the courtyard.

T'Annel rose and walked over to the wall. A sudden breeze blew a refreshing mist into her face as she looked down the cliff. The ledge where Yanash died had been split in two. Water gushed forth from it like a geyser.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

An argument had broken out among Sparn's guests. It began when Spock voiced his decision to leave Vulcan and begin the process of legal protest. The vehemence of Sorel's objection took Spock by surprise.

"No," the young Vulcan insisted. "Somehow we were all led to this place. It must be that we are meant to stay together. Perhaps Yanash _will_ return, as he said."

Standing in their midst, Spock confronted the man Yanash had chosen to succeed him. "Sorel, by now there is nothing left of him but bones. Yanash returned my own son from the dead, but in that case there was an intact body for him to raise. Granted, Yanash displayed unusual powers, but can a man who is dead raise himself?"

Sorel replied, "Yanash taught that all things are possible with a God of love. He foretold his death and it happened even as he said. And he also foretold his return."

As patiently as possible Spock reasoned, "If Yanash is to return, why did he appoint a leader in his place?"

"That I cannot tell you," Sorel admitted. "Nevertheless he did appoint me, and though your role has always been that of an observer, I strongly feel that you should remain here."

 _Feel?_ So it was as Spock had thought; Sorel was responding on an emotional level. With the eyes of the others upon him, Spock thought it best to defuse the situation. "I am accomplishing nothing here, but for your sake I will remain until tomorrow."

The disciple named Relan raised his voice. "For Sorel's sake? I should think it would be for the sake of Yanash."

Spock turned and looked at him. "Yanash deserves justice…and it is for that reason that I must return to Earth. It is a simple matter of logic."

The young man replied, "Spock, I am not speaking here of logic. Yanash taught that logic is inferior to love, yet you continue to practice logic without any indication of love."

Spock held back a sharp retort. He would not stand here and argue love with a child who had only just discovered the word a few months ago.

To his chagrin, T'Naisa Brandt rose up, her eyes flashing with anger as she cried, "Relan, you have no right to accuse Spock! You do not know what you are talking about!"

Relan remained calm. "It is about you that I was thinking, T'Naisa. We have all seen how unkindly Spock treats you."

"That is a matter between the two of us," T'Naisa declared. "If you knew everything I have done to him, you would understand."

Fearing she might actually reveal the ways in which she had humiliated him, Spock quickly said, "Miss Brandt, be silent! I will not have you defending me."

T'Naisa blushed deeply and lowering her eyes, sat down.

Relan gave Spock a cold look. "Yes, his 'kindness' is most evident."

T'Naisa put her hands over her face and began to sob. "Leave him alone," she said in an anguished whine that grated Spock's nerves.

For the first time Sparn spoke, his voice quiet but very clear. "Yanash advised us not to judge one another. Did he not? Spock has offered to remain until tomorrow. Surely that time would be better spent in peace than in discord."

Sorel nodded. "Let us open ourselves to the Father in the way that Yanash taught us."

T'Naisa sniffled and wiped away her tears.

Spock remained on his feet as the others assumed the classic posture of Vulcan meditation and closed their eyes. Instead of resting their palms on their thighs, they turned their hands so that their palms lay open and receptive. Spock would not pretend to pray or open himself to a mythical deity. His time would be better spent arranging the transportation he would need tomorrow.

Turning toward the hallway, he took one step…and his heart lurched.

There before him stood a man. The Vulcan was tall, his features shrouded by the hood of a desert robe, his hands deeply wounded.

Spock stared in shock. But rather than run, fascination held him. Slowly he moved toward the person and his hand seemed to rise of its own accord, fingers outstretched, seeking…

And he whispered, "Qual se tu?" _Is it thou?_

The Vulcan drew back his hood. Yanash looked upon him with love, grasped his hand solidly, and Spock felt the rapturous touch of his Creator soul-deep. _Yes._ He _had_ an eternal soul. And there _was_ a Creator. With that sudden comprehension, the barriers of Spock's universe expanded to infinity. All was clear now. _And_ logical. How had he not seen it before? _God was real!_

By now the others had become aware of what was happening. Oblivious to the commotion erupting around him, Spock sank onto his knees, and for a time he knew nothing else.

oooo

In a hospital bed, Grand Master Marek awoke suddenly. For a moment he lay quite still, his mind consumed by the strange and marvelous images imprinted upon it. Somehow, he had been standing with the prisoner Yanash beside a great fountain cascading from a mountain cleft.

"Your heart has been like this stone," Yanash had told him, "but now the stone has been torn asunder. Into your hands I give the Water of Life." Then, "Find the healer T'Annel. Go with her to Mount Seleya."

Gone was the brittle, unfeeling vacuum of kolinahr. Sweet emotions burst from Marek's heart, like water surging from the broken rock in the vision. He felt as if he had been freed from a dark prison. He felt as if he understood logic's role for the first time, clearly—a beloved servant of Vulcan, not its master.

He knew that he must find T'Annel at once. He must waste no time locating this life-giving water that had been put into his keeping.

Marek rose and found his clothes in a closet beside the bed. Dressing quickly, he stepped out into the corridor.

A patient deep in healing trance was being moved on a gurney. Despite extensive bruising, Marek immediately recognized the Seleyan guard. He turned to question one of the medical attendants and came face to face with T'Annel.

The lovely, auburn-haired Vulcan stopped in her tracks.

"Marek!" she exclaimed with a depth of surprise that clearly equaled his own. "I looked in upon you only a few moments ago."

"I am recovered," he said simply, and gestured at the injured guard being rolled into a turbolift. "What has happened?"

"I have much to tell you," replied the healer, her eyes sparkling with unmistakable excitement.

She drew him into the privacy of a meditation cubicle. Without preamble, she disclosed, "Yanash lives."

Marek had not expected to hear the name of Yanash from her lips; though startled, he was careful to conceal any sign of his newfound emotion. "I have no doubt that Yanash lives. Did the High Council exile him?"

T'Annel's eyes dulled with pain. Softly she said, "Of course, you would not know. He was sentenced to death and executed."

"Executed!" Marek could not hide his dismay. "How can that be?"

In a hushed, halting voice T'Annel described everything that had transpired since Marek collapsed in the council chamber. She came at last to the earthquake. "T'Lar had left me to die, but instead she was the one who was taken—crushed when the priests' compound gave way." Her eyes glowed and her manner grew animated as she said, "When the shaking stopped, I saw light in the tunnel. The tomb of Yanash had broken open. It was empty, save for the blanket in which his bones had been wrapped. Then Yanash himself stood before me, even as you stand now—healthy and whole, his body diffused with a wonderful glow. He guided me out of the tunnel and warned me to tell no one but you. That is why I came to the hospital." And then she _smiled._

Marek absorbed the information in silence. Incredible as her story seemed, he did not think to doubt it. "I, too, have seen Yanash," he confessed. "In a vision he showed me a fountain of water. He told me to seek you out and go with you to Mount Seleya."

For a second time T'Annel smiled. "Marek—the fountain you seek is there!"

oooo

In Tareel, the initial shock of Yanash's arrival gradually gave way to a joyous sense of serenity for all but Spock, whose role as an informer was looming large in his mind again. He did not belong with these others who had always been faithful to the Shiav. The men specially chosen for the new priesthood clustered closely around the risen Master while Spock and his uncle sat with the other onlookers.

Spock could hardly take his eyes off the marks left by the rods of impalement, for in those wounded hands he clearly saw the reality of a God who loves and redeems. He knew what it was like to give one's life so that others might go on living. His own sacrifice aboard the Enterprise had been motivated more by love than by any logic, but even so he had saved only his friends' bodies. The perfect sacrifice of Yanash would accomplish infinitely more. In taking the guilt of Yatara upon himself, Yanash had restored their broken relationship with a holy God. Through Yanash they were being born into a new spiritual life.

Spock had thought the question of his personal identity had long ago been settled. He had thought that he knew exactly who he was and what his role in life would be. But this God-man, this Vulcan Christ, had taken hold and shaken the very foundation of his being. Yet he was still Spock the betrayer. How could he move among these others, burdened by such a secret? Every fiber of his Vulcan being demanded complete honesty, while the human part of him feared the shame and condemnation that such uncompromising truth would bring.

All were seated and the room had grown quiet when Yanash addressed them. "Listen carefully, all of you. I Am and remain the unchanging One, the only perfect Truth. Truth is a tree which bears good fruit. Every good and fruitful work has its source in love. Love has chosen you. Love has set its seal upon you."

Rising, he beckoned to his Chosen few, and they followed him to their feet.

To them Yanash said, "The kolinahru and the priests of Seleya demand the thoughts of their disciples. However, you will not be masters, but servants." Moving slowly among them, he briefly touched each forehead with his fingertips. "To thee I give the Spirit of Life. Welcome all those who come to you seeking release. Receive their sins and grant them forgiveness in my name."

When the Master had finished, he went to Spock and said, "My son."

Instinctively Spock knelt, and as the hand of Yanash touched him, as unseen light flooded into his soul, illuminating a lifetime of unholy urges and acts. In the perfect light of God, nothing could remain hidden. Yanash saw, understood, and forgave even Spock's acts of betrayal. There was no longer any question of Spock leaving Vulcan just now. Body and soul, he was committed, but there still remained one very difficult hurdle.

When Yanash removed his hand, Spock rose and faced the others, including T'Naisa Brandt. Though her presence made the task harder, he could no longer hide behind a mask of innocence. Encouraged by Yanash's generosity, and without implicating his father, he openly confessed to his role in the Shiav's arrest.

Sparn looked upon him with a stunned disappointment that cut to the bone. T'Naisa seemed merely saddened, but other faces revealed shock and anger. Sorel was about to speak when Yanash raised one wounded hand and said, "Those among you without sin, let _them_ speak against him. Your work is not to pursue vengeance, but to heal. Go now in peace to Mount Seleya." Then he simply vanished.

Everyone stood shaken and silent while Spock awaited his fate. But when Sorel spoke, it was not of him, but rather to remark, " _Seleya?_ To go there is to invite arrest."

"Yet we must obey…" Sparn said softly.

Sorel turned to Spock with animosity in his eyes. "If you still wish to return to Earth, I withdraw my objection. That is a matter between you and the Shiav...but perhaps it is best, after all."

Spock's shame intensified. With a slight bow of his head, he declared, "I too will obey."

oooo

Marek and T'Annel transported from the hospital directly to Mount Seleya. They entered the priests' compound and found it eerily deserted. The disaster crew had already completed its work. Rubble had been cleared away, structures inspected for safety, and emergency bracing installed wherever necessary. One could almost forget that a deadly earthquake had struck there only this morning.

Then an aftershock rumbled under their feet, climaxing in a sharp jolt that sent dust sifting from the ruined portion of the complex.

When it was over, Marek said, "Show me the fountain."

Even as T'Annel led him to the eastern wall, she knew something was wrong. No mist cooled her face; the sweet scent of moisture had disappeared.

They reached the cliff and looked over. Down at the ledge, four temple guards stood watch over a great bulging bubble of water.

Dismayed, T'Annel cried, "But what have they done? It was a veritable geyser!"

"Someone has placed a containment field," Marek said with displeasure. "Come. I will soon put an end to this."

As High Master of Kolinahr, Marek's authority exceeded even that of Seleya's High Priestess. With T'Lar gone, Dalek would hold a ceremony to assume the title and office of High Priest. Marek and T'Annel walked over the narrow land bridge and entered the temple. They stood watching in the shadows by the door as the investiture rite concluded. Incense braziers sent up a fragrant smoke, and a gong sounded. Resplendent in his robes and headdress, Dalek mounted a sedan chair and was carried out in solemn procession. An occasional eye broke discipline to glance at Marek, but every face remained properly impassive.

As the sedan chair approached, Marek stepped squarely in front of it. He was a tall Vulcan with a naturally imposing presence, and the attendants stopped at once.

"Dalek," he said loudly. "I will have words with you."

Dalek's eyes widened perceptibly at the sight of him. After a brief hesitation, the reed-slim priest signaled his attendants to lower the chair.

"Leave us," Dalek told them. When they were alone, he stepped down and inclined his head to the High Master. "Marek, we were told that your mind was destroyed by the criminal Yanash. It is well that you have recovered."

"It is very well," Marek agreed. "A great evil has occurred in my absence. Death has visited Seleya."

Dalek lowered his eyes. "Yes. T'Lar will be greatly missed."

Not long ago, Marek would have been appalled by the anger that welled inside him. Now he welcomed it. "I am not speaking of T'Lar! Here, on this sacred mountain, a man was tortured to death!"

Dalek lifted his chin and studied him closely. "Such was the ruling handed down by Vulcan's High Council."

"With the active participation of the priesthood. When did you become executioners for the state?"

"Yanash injured your mind," Dalek argued. "He and his renegade teachings were a danger to all of Vulcan. How is it that you defend him…so emotionally?"

"I defend that which is true," retorted Marek. "Yanash warned me not to touch his mind. I could not bear the light I saw in him. But now that I have seen the light, I must by logic act on it."

"Of what light do you speak?" Dalek questioned.

"There is but one light, one truth," Marek replied. "By that same truth, and for the evil that was performed here, you and your priesthood will leave this mountain forever."

There was a silence so complete that the incense could be heard sizzling in the braziers.

Dalek scarcely breathed. "…We are expelled?"

"It is well within my power. You will assemble your priests and your attendants and prepare to go. But first you will deactivate the containment field you have placed over the fountain."

T'Annel spoke for the first time. "Dalek, why did you stop the water?"

The High Priest slowly removed his ceremonial headdress and stared at it. "They came almost as soon as the water appeared, soaking themselves like children, scooping it into their hands, drinking as if it was something more than ordinary water." His voice took on an unmistakable note of contempt. _"Yanashites!"_

oooo

Financing had become a serious problem for some of the disciples, but those with available credits used their resources to secure transportation for everyone. To avoid arousing undue suspicion, they traveled to Seleya singly or in pairs. Despite some evidence of government surveillance, Spock and his uncle arrived safely in an air cab.

Even so, Spock was not particularly reassured. Relations with Sparn were still somewhat strained, and there was no telling how the others would receive "the betrayer" when everyone regrouped on the mountain.

They debarked from the cab into a throng unlike any they had ever seen at Mount Seleya, and joined the long, hot line slowly wending toward the stair path.

"Chatai," Spock said to the young man ahead of them. "Excuse me, do you know why there are so many people here today?"

The man seemed startled by the question. "Could it be that you have not heard? Of the earthquake? Of the great fountain of water?"

Spock admitted that he had not, and added, "There was no mention of this on the news net."

The line inched forward. Once again the young man turned toward him. His eyes narrowed as he studied Spock. "Sir, you seem familiar. Are you in the government?"

"Indeed not," Spock replied.

The young man leaned near. Very quietly he said, "Then I will tell you more. The government has suppressed the news, but it cannot prevent us from speaking to one another. Yesterday the High Priestess T'Lar died in the earthquake here. The stone on which the Shiav was executed cracked wide open and released a fountain of water. It is said that he is alive again, that he has actually been seen by some of his Chosen Ones."

Spock's eyebrow rose. Meeting his uncle's eyes he recited from memory, "'Out of my body will spring a fountain of living water'."

"So," Sparn murmured with a touch of sarcasm, "it would seem that at times you occasionally did listen."

"Yes, I listened," Spock responded. "I listened closely, even if I did not always understand. And now I have begun chronicling the events I witnessed."

In the crush of pilgrims Sparn said low, "And how will your chronicle read when it comes to Ar-Bekani? Will you tell the truth or will you spare yourself?"

It was a disturbing question for which Spock had no answer.

After more than three hours they arrived at the Visitors' Center. From there new lines formed, all intent on reaching the mysterious fountain. Spock and his uncle gave up their places and worked their way to the rendezvous point agreed upon at Sparn's home. Here, too, the area was crowded well beyond its capacity, but it was apparent that these people had already taken a turn at the fountain. Their clothes were drenched, their eyes wistful as they milled about, as though reluctant to leave. But there was no sign of Sorel or any of the others.

Spock was considering what to do next when he heard his name and Sparn's spoken over an intercom, summoning them to the priests' compound.

"I do not like the sound of that," Sparn declared.

"Nor I," Spock agreed. His abdomen still bore a painful bruise from the temple guard's lirpa.

Anticipating another unpleasant confrontation, he ascended the priests' stairway with Sparn following close behind. They emerged into a curiously empty courtyard. The southern face of the priests' compound was a ruin of broken chambers and construction bracing. Since T'Lar had been a member of Spock and Sparn's clan, they could actually sense that she had died here.

Turning from the ruin, Spock walked over to the east wall. The stones glistened with moisture carried by the breeze. Sparn joined him and together they looked down the mountainside at a most unlikely sight. It was not only the broken ledge or the great plume of water spraying from the fissure. It was the Vulcans clustered around it—many dropping to their knees, arms outstretched and faces raised to receive the precious shower. And here and there, a _smile._

"See how they thirst," a man spoke directly behind them.

They turned around and saw him. Although the Vulcan was very simply dressed, Spock immediately recognized Marek from his sojourn among the kolinahru at Gol. He looked at his former superior in confusion, for Marek's intellect was said to have been destroyed.

"Grand Master Marek…"

"Just plain Marek." Breaking the taut discipline of kolinahr, he reached out, grasped Spock by the shoulders, and looked him in the eyes— _warmly_. "Spock, you were wiser than any of us knew. It was well that you left Gol." Withdrawing his hands, he turned slightly. "Sparn, son of Skon, I welcome you in peace."

Spock continued to stare. Clearly this was no longer the cold taskmaster he remembered. "Marek," he began again, "the High Council said your mind was ruined…"

"Not ruined, but renewed," Marek said almost casually. "I was told that all of you would arrive soon. Come, see the rooms I have prepared for you and your companions."

Spock held back. "But sir, this area is reserved for the priests and their attendants."

Marek explained, "The priests of Seleya have left for Gol, and they will not be permitted to return. Come."

Once more Spock's eyebrow climbed. He glanced toward Sparn, but his uncle was already following Marek into the compound.

By evening everyone had arrived safely. Attendants faithful to Marek prepared dinner, and the Vulcans gathered at a long, polished table in the priests' dining room, together with the healer T'Annel and the mother of Yanash who had been given into a disciple's care.

Two of the attendants serving them were invited by Marek to give their own testimony. They had been among those who stood guard at the site of the execution and had seen how Yanash suffered. The Shiav had spoken so kindly to them as he lay dying that their hearts were moved to believe in him.

During the meal, Marek and T'Annel also related their own experiences with the risen Yanash. Shamefaced, T'Annel confessed to her part in the Master's death. "Even as I injected him, he forgave me," she said softly, "but I do not expect any of you to do the same."

As Spock's own guilt intensified, his sympathies went out to her. Standing, he said, "I cannot condemn you, T'Annel, for I am not without fault of my own." And for a second time he admitted to his activities as an informer.

Others went to their feet, eyes hard on him.

Young Relan said, "From the beginning you were an outsider. Perhaps you have changed, but what is to stop you from reverting back to your old ways? We are safer without you in our midst."

"No!" From her seat T'Naisa Brandt spoke up loudly so that all could hear. "Spock has seen his error and is no worse than any of us. Think of the Shiav's words. He called Spock _'my son'."_

Despite his dislike for the halfling, Spock felt a stirring of gratitude.

Meanwhile, more objections were raised until Sparn finally stood and said, "Do you think our Shiav was not aware of Spock's role when he called him away from Earth? Events unfolded as they were meant to, from the very beginning of time! My nephew did not betray Yanash for any personal gain; he thought he was acting for the welfare of Vulcan…and when he heard of the illegal death sentence, he did everything in his power to prevent it! I was there. I saw—."

An aftershock ended the impassioned speech. Spock glanced nervously at the tons of rock over their heads. When the quaking subsided he lowered his eyes and with a thrill of recognition found Yanash seated at the table. His own voice was lost in the general outcry that filled the chamber.

"Be in peace," Yanash said in greeting. He asked for some food and talked to them like a friend while he ate. When finished, he turned to Sorel and asked for a fresh cup of water.

At once Sorel filled a goblet of red Vulcan glass from a pitcher on the table, then set it before the Shiav. After Sorel returned to his seat, Yanash took the cup into his hands. Raising it, he repeated the same blessing that he had spoken before his arrest. Then he rose, came to Spock's place, and personally offered him the consecrated water. Slowly and with great reverence Spock received the Living Water for the first time. Yanash then passed the goblet on to T'Annel. The meaning was clear. By serving them first, Yanash was setting yet another example of forgiveness for the others to follow.

When everyone had shared in the Sacred Communion, the Shiav turned his attention to his Chosen Ones and said, "Let there be no further talk of reprisals. Do you not see that my children are thirsty? You, my priests of the New Order, must give them the Water that never fails. Go forth as one and teach fearlessly by word and example."

"Stay with us always," exclaimed Sparn.

Yanash smiled. "Soon you will no longer see me, but I will not leave you alone. My Spirit will dwell within you, giving you strength and leading you ever closer to the truth." At that, his body took on an unworldly glow and slowly disappeared from their sight.

oooo

At ShanaiKahr, Vulcan's High Council of Elders was convened for the purpose of hearing testimony from Dalek on behalf of his Seleyan priesthood. While Dalek was finishing his appeal, the main door opened. Ambassador Sarek quietly entered the chamber and took a seat in the rear.

Dalek concluded, "By his actions, Marek has denied us the opportunity to mourn T'Lar in the customary manner. He has installed associates of Yanash in the priests' compound of Vulcan's most venerable temple. Curiosity seekers swarm over the mountain at all hours of the day and night. It has become a center for promoting the heretical doctrines for which T'rel N'hor Yanash was executed."

The ancient T'Gora gazed down upon him from her honored place on the dais. "You say that T'rel N'hor Yanash was executed, yet now some are reporting that he is alive."

"A Yanashite lie," Dalek responded. "This corrupting heresy strikes at the very heart of all that is Vulcan. It must be completely uprooted before further damage is done. Mount Seleya must be returned to its rightful custodians."

"Marek is the Grand Master of Kolinahr," T'Gora noted. "He has submitted to a mind test at the request of this council. His mind proved sound and free of external control. What would you have us do?"

"He must be silenced," Dalek asserted. "Marek and his fellow Yanashites must be removed from Mount Seleya."

In the back of the chamber, Ambassador Sarek rose from his seat and said, "If I may speak…"

T'Gora's sharp eyes settled on him. "Proceed, Ambassador. Have you heard from your agent?"

Gravely Sarek replied, "There is no longer any contact between us. He…disapproved of recent decisions made in this chamber, and I fear that he may have turned to the Yanashite way. As for Mount Seleya, I agree. A place of such historic value must not remain in the hands of heretics."

T'Gora quietly consulted with the other members of the council. Then facing forward, she said, "Ambassador Sarek, High Priest Dalek, you both call these people 'heretics'. By your very use of the term, you categorize this as a religious matter. The High Council is a political body. We do not interfere in the affairs of priests."

Sarek sat down in silence.

Dalek stood rigidly before the dais. "You will not? Yet it was at the urging of the priesthood that you sentenced Yanash to death."

"And what did it accomplish?" T'Gora questioned. "Has the execution of Yanash diminished his following? No, I tell you that it has only diminished us. This council attempted to circumvent modern law, but it will not happen again. Find evidence of political insurrection or other criminal activity; then we will be able to act." She paused, one hand rising to signal the session's end. "If there are no further comments…"

Once more Sarek stood. "I have such evidence in my possession. It involves a stolen vehicle…"

oooo

The weeks following the Shiav's departure were very productive. Since that day when Yanash joined them at table, no priest questioned Spock's loyalty or rebuked him for the past, but began to respect him for his administrative abilities. Using his experience as a Starfleet officer, he organized an efficient system for meeting the physical and spiritual needs of the Vulcan pilgrims at Seleya. Another effort centered on researching the ancient texts, and the discoveries that came forth were electrifying. Scriptures once taught as myth were found to contain abundant prophecies regarding the Shiav, and in turn, the teachings of Yanash served to illuminate many a venerable passage. Perhaps even more important, Spock asked all those who knew Yanash to set down an orderly account similar to that which he had already begun. Out of these first drafts came the earliest statements of creed and doctrine, as well as the basis for their liturgy. Compared to the others, Spock's words sometimes flowed like the poetry that his mother had so wanted him to appreciate during his re-education.

The ever-increasing stream of visitors brought with them a huge influx of donations. Buildings destroyed by the earthquake were quickly restored for use as classrooms where the Mind of Yanash was now taught in progressive levels. Those instructed on the lowest level were both seekers and skeptics who had not yet submitted to a ceremonial washing at the fountain. At the highest level, the Yanashites (so they had begun to think of themselves) would prepare for the Communion of Living Water that had become a daily ritual at the temple.

Spock worked with those in the middle—the newly washed believers on their way to a deeper participation in the young faith. It was his duty to ready them for the Forgiving Touch. Tonight his first hundred candidates would come forward and be released from their sins in a formal ceremony at the temple—the first ceremony of its kind in Vulcan history.

Eridani sank below the horizon and as darkness fell, the air began to cool. Banks of candles glowed in the temple where Spock waited with his students. A gong sounded, and the priests entered wearing hooded robes that had been designed for ritual use—blood green with white hems. Priests commissioned not by any worldly authority, but by the Shiav himself.

Sorel invoked the blessing of God and spoke passages of scripture before inviting the candidates to come forward. Just as Spock had rehearsed them, the Vulcans formed into even lines before the priests. One by one his students dropped to their knees. Spock watched a young man who had taken leave from the Vulcan Academy of Science to come here and pursue the inner truths. Garon knelt before a priest and raised his head. The priest extended his right hand and touched his fingertips to Garon's forehead. Pain stirred the priest's features as he bore the weight of brokenness and remorse, invoking the healing that was only possible with God's forgiveness. One after another they came to the priests, opening themselves with complete trust, offering up their darkest sins.

At last the ceremony came to an end and the candidates dispersed. Leaving the temple, Spock wandered back across the land bridge. A faint sound of voices rose from the eastern cliff. Day and night they kept coming. One hundred fifty new faces would pass through his classroom tomorrow. Then two hundred, three hundred thirsting souls. They would need more well-trained teachers to free the priests, and ultimately they would need more priests.

Spock did not see how he could possibly return to Earth this year. He wondered how long Lauren would be patient with him. He had been having a difficult time trying to explain the changes in himself. How much better it would be if he could take her into his arms and simply let her share his thoughts. At least then she would have no doubt that he still loved her.

Passing through the priests' compound, he came to his room. He entered the small, Spartan chamber and found T'Naisa Brandt perched on his stone meditation bench. She, too, had some instructional duties, and lived in the women's section of the complex. But until now she had never dared invade Spock's privacy in this manner.

Rising, she said, "Will you please shut the door?"

He refused.

Quietly she came over and settled onto her knees before him. In a soft voice she said, "I will confess."

Spock's heart gave a sickening lurch. "I am not a priest, as you well know. Get up. Leave at once."

She made no move. Tears brimmed in her downcast eyes, spilled over, and ran unchecked down her face. "What I have to say, I will say aloud."

So he could not rid himself of the young woman. Spock did what he could to collect his thoughts and open himself to something beyond his own lingering resentment toward her.

"There was a time," she said in Standard, "when I thought you were perfect. But knowing that you can admit to errors has only increased my respect for you. If I could, I would change the past. We both know the ways that I harmed you and your family on Earth. Spock, I'm so sorry. Won't you ever forgive me?"

Spock struggled with himself while she waited. Because Yanash had forgiven him, he should have been able to pardon her—yet something inside him would not allow it. Then, all at once, he saw his error. How strange that he, trained as a Vulcan, had come to rely so heavily upon a mere feeling.

Words formed in his mind and on his tongue. "I can see that you are sincere," he said, intending to add in all honesty, _I truly_ _do_ _wish to forgive you..._ But before the thought was half formed, an unexpected thing happened. A shaft of grace entered his heart, warming away the resentment, and he merely said to her, "You are forgiven."

Breaking into a smile, she rose up and slipped her arms around him like an affectionate human child. Spock not only accepted the embrace, but returned it, remembering the first time he saw her from behind the commandant's desk at Starfleet Academy—the troublesome halfling cadet so resistant to any kind of discipline. In those early encounters she had inspired fatherly feelings, and now those same feelings returned to him.

She stepped back, her eyes aglow. "I'm glad you kicked me out of the academy. This is better. It's what I've been looking for all my life."

"We were all looking," he said.

T'Naisa bid him goodnight and slipped out, closing the door behind her.

After a moment of reflection, Spock sat on the meditation bench, palms open to the heavens. His mind cleared easily and soon he was surrendering himself in the deep form of prayer taught by Yanash.

He did not notice the door cracking open again. But then there came a sound from his past—a sudden bolt of phased energy releasing.

Darkness struck him with the force of pain.

oooo

Sparn had been searching for his nephew for over an hour when he went back to Spock's room and noticed a spot on the floor. Bending down near the meditation bench, he ran his fingers over the area. They came up slightly sticky and green.

Sparn went cold. He threw open the door and called out to the other priests. Soon the tiny room was crowded. The healer T'Annel analyzed the stain and confirmed that it was T-negative combined with some human elements.

T'Naisa Brandt stared at the bloodstain with all the emotion of her human half. "I don't understand. What could have happened? I was here after the ceremony and he was fine then."

All eyes turned toward her, and Sparn voiced the question uppermost in every mind. "You were here? In Spock's room? Is that not unusual?"

T'Naisa nodded tearfully. "I came to him seeking forgiveness…"

Sparn did not dare venture any further into such a private matter.

Sorel spoke. "It would appear that violence has been done here. Search the mountain in pairs, and if we do not find Spock, we must report him missing." He turned to Sparn. "You and I will investigate the tunnels."

oooo

Slowly, painfully, Spock worked his way toward consciousness. His head throbbed fiercely and his stomach churned. Lying prone, he cracked open his eyes. The room in which he found himself looked like a modern security cell. His body was clothed in Vulcan pajamas and his feet were bare.

Thoroughly confused, he attempted to sit up, but the change of position nearly brought on a heave. Giving in to his weakness, he dropped back on the bed.

 _What was the matter with him? Where was he?_

He became aware of a stinging sensation on his scalp. With concentrated effort he raised a hand to the left side of his head. His fingers found a shaved area and touched a fresh, tender line of scarring.

All at once the memories came flooding back. The temple ceremony, T'Naisa's visit, the sound of energy releasing…

 _Heavy phaser stun._

He must have fallen from the bench and hit his head on the floor. But who had wielded the phaser? And what of the others at the compound? Were they also taken? Had all of Seleya been overrun? Troubling thoughts, yet even in the midst of them Spock experienced moments of deep peace, for he was not alone. He must remember that he belonged to Yanash now. No lock or security field could separate him from the Shiav's care.

For an hour he rested. His symptoms were becoming manageable when the door's security field disengaged and two male Vulcans entered.

Dalek came and stood over him. At the new High Priest's side was Rokar, a Master of Gol. Their faces were cold and distant.

Dalek raised his hand in the customary Vulcan salute. "Live long and prosper, Spock." When he saw that Spock would not return the greeting, he said, "On the eve of Surak's feast you stole a skimmer, and on the following day abandoned it near Kreb. You were seen with the skimmer at Mount Seleya. Your fingerprints and those of your companion Sparn further incriminate you."

From the bed Spock asked, "Where is my uncle?"

"He is not my concern," Dalek responded. "The arrest warrant was issued in your name, but of course we realize that you are not truly responsible for taking the skimmer. It is our intention to help you recover your mental stability."

Spock carefully raised himself to a sitting position and swung his legs over the side of the bed. The room swayed, then grew still. "If it must be," he said, "I will stand trial for using the skimmer…but there is nothing wrong with my mind."

Dalek's eyebrow climbed. "On Surak's feast I myself witnessed you screaming in the priests' courtyard on Seleya."

"I raised my voice," Spock said, "in order to be clearly heard."

"You demanded to enter an area forbidden to the public. When the guards barred your way, you shoved them."

That, Spock could not deny.

Dalek continued. "That same day you were seen in public, _weeping."_

Annoyed, Spock asked, "Dalek, have you never grieved?"

Rokar responded, "Grieving can be accomplished without shedding tears."

Spock remembered the desolate tug of those dark hours, and the intense guilt. "Perhaps it can, but I am half human and I experienced deep sorrow over the murder of Yanash."

"Sorrow for a renegade?" said Dalek. "What was that man to you?"

Easily, as if the words were given to him, Spock replied, "Yanash is the author of logic, of intellect, of life."

"The author of logic, of intellect, of life?" Rokar's voice was dry with scorn. "All those existed long before the birth of Yanash. What precisely are you saying?"

"I am saying that Yanash is The Source of everything. He has existed always."

"Illogical! By your own words, you proclaimed Yanash dead."

"I said," Spock corrected, "that Yanash was _murdered._ His body died, yet now he lives…as he has lived for all eternity."

Dalek said, "You are a scientist. Explain that to me in scientific terms."

"I cannot," Spock admitted, "for it is beyond our limited scientific knowledge. It belongs to a realm of understanding far above that of this world."

"Be reasonable," Dalek said. "One cannot have died as Yanash did, and now live. Nor can one live eternally. All things end. Do you not see the error in your logic?"

"If nothing else, I know what I have seen," Spock answered.

Rokar asked, "And what _have_ you seen?"

Although Spock knew his words would seal the charge of madness, he replied, "I have seen the Shiav Yanash risen from the dead."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

The search for Spock continued. Many of the old tunnels had collapsed during the earthquake, but miles of them still snaked deep into the mountain. Bearing torches, Sparn and Sorel walked well beyond the last door in each tunnel and called out Spock's name before leaving. They came to the tunnel where Yanash had been buried. All the rubble had been cleared away. The stone walls were being reinforced and prepared for a sheathing of finest Vulcan marble.

The tunnel turned. In the distance Sparn saw light from the lamp that burned day and night by the tomb. A man in a pale-colored robe stood near the lamp.

Greatly relieved, Sparn called out, "Spock! We have been looking everywhere for you!"

He broke into a run, slowed, and then stopped in disappointment at the tomb. The man was not Spock. Sparn searched the kind, authoritative face without recognition.

Beside him Sorel said, "Stranger, who are you? What are you doing here?"

The stranger said, "The one whom you seek is not on Seleya. But have no fear. Remain in prayer and he will be returned to you unharmed."

"How do you know that?" Sorel asked. And he repeated, "Who _are_ you?"

Wordlessly the man turned and headed deep into the tunnel.

"He will not get far," Sparn said in a low voice. "He has no torch, and farther on the tunnel is completely blocked."

They waited in silence. When the man failed to return, they carried their torches all the way to the cave-in. Sparn's skin prickled with a chill when they found no sign of the stranger.

oooo

Spock lay on a medical treatment table, his wrists and ankles secured by padded metal straps. His breathing was still heavy from his struggle with the Vulcan orderlies. There had been too many of them and they were skilled in handling uncooperative patients.

A final strap settled over his neck and was snugged into place by a young Vulcan who avoided Spock's eyes. Then the last of the orderlies left the room.

Alone, Spock took stock of his surroundings—sterile white ceiling and walls, utilitarian cabinets, a scattering of unupholstered chairs. In the corner of his vision he saw a tray holding various medical implements, including a hypo. He pulled against the restraints, but they held firm.

Closing his eyes, he worked to calm himself. Precisely fifteen minutes dragged by.

The door opened. Dalek and Rokar came to him.

Perhaps Spock could resist a forced probing by Dalek, but even at his mental best, he would be unable to resist the highly trained mind of a kolinahr master. Drugs would only hasten the collapse of his mental barriers.

Dalek met his eyes. "Your clanswoman T'Lar has asked us to help you regain your equanimity. But admit that you were wrong about Yanash, and there may be no need for all this."

Knowing that it would seal his fate, Spock drew in a breath and said, "I have only spoken the truth."

Rokar stepped closer. "You said that Yanash has returned to life. Have you actually seen him?"

"Yes," Spock replied. "I have seen him, I have touched him, I have spoken to him."

"Then if you are not lying," Dalek said, "you are mentally unbalanced. It is our duty to heal your mind. Do you understand?"

Spock fought down a surge of fear. "I understand that you do not _want_ to believe me, but I am speaking the truth."

Dalek looked at him coldly. "The truth as you perceive it. An unbalanced mind cannot discern truth. Your behavior disgraces your father."

"Sarek?" Spock asked. "What has my father to do with this?"

Dalek gave no answer, but said, "We go now to prepare for the procedure." And once more Spock was left by himself.

It was becoming more difficult to remain calm. His wrists were sore from pulling at the restraints. At last he stopped struggling and focused on a tiny insect on the ceiling. More minutes passed in complete silence.

His taut nerves jumped at the sound of the door opening. Dalek and Rokar reappeared.

Dalek's dark eyes settled on Spock. "When you said that you have seen Yanash and have touched him and spoken to him, you were referring only to his remains. Were you not? You have seen them in the tomb at Mount Seleya."

"There are no remains," Spock said. "The tomb at Mount Seleya is empty because the Shiav's life has been restored."

Dalek seemed annoyed. "If the tomb is empty, it is because someone has removed the bones. You and your fellow Yanashites are conspiring to perpetrate a hoax. All Yanashites are liars. You, Spock, are lying."

"I am telling the truth," Spock insisted with his own measure of annoyance.

Rokar said, "If you believe that, you leave us no choice but to enter your mind and make adjustments."

Dalek bent over him, so near that Spock felt the High Priest's breath on his face. "Think. It is not too late. Perhaps you _are_ lying. You are half human—from a race of accomplished liars."

Spock felt his hands clenching and forced them to relax. He must not let them see his anger. He must not appear out of control. Closing his eyes, he said nothing, and at last they walked out the door.

This time Spock suspected that their games were at an end. When they came back, they would force their minds deeply into his and find an unacceptable truth. What might they then do to destroy it? Thinking of his wife and children, a wave of panic took hold. But as he strained against the straps holding him, his thoughts turned toward Yanash, arrested on Spock's advice, impaled hand and foot upon the stone that became his deathbed.

The panicky feeling subsided. His tension began to ease.

With this new viewpoint it was as if _he_ were lying on that stone, at one with Yanash, joining in the Shiav's sacrifice. How fitting it seemed—to offer this ordeal as reparation for the evil he had done. He could willingly surrender to the One who forgave him and promised to be with him always.

Once more the door opened. Someone came into the room. Expecting Dalek and Rokar, Spock turned his head and looked into the face of Sparn's estranged wife, T'Prinka. He remembered that she was a healer's assistant. Did she work here? Was it her job to prepare him for the coming procedure?

As he opened his mouth to speak, his aunt-by-bonding touched a finger to her lips and rapidly released him from the restraints. He stood up and she helped him into the robe that had been slung over her arm. Then she arranged his hood, cracked open a rear door, and beckoned him to follow. Fortunately it was a short walk to the parking area and no one took notice of his bare feet. They hurried to a groundcar and T'Prinka took off driving.

Only then did Spock realize that he was in his hometown, ShiKahr. T'Prinka seemed to be driving straight to his father's house.

Uneasy with the situation, he asked, "Where are you taking me?"

She was driving manually and kept her attention on the lane. "I have been a guest of Sarek since your mother's memorial service. Do not worry, it will be safe. Today he is at his office in ShanaiKahr."

"They will be searching for me," Spock warned.

"Not here," T'Prinka said as she settled the car onto the estate's parking area.

Spock followed her into the house. He had little choice but to follow her. Though all was still as he entered the living room, it seemed alive with painful memories of his mother's presence. Distracting himself from it, he asked another question. "How did you know where to find me?"

"That is not important," she replied. "Stay here. I will not be long."

T'Prinka brought him an old pair of his father's sandals. Although they fit well enough, they made Spock uncomfortable in other ways.

She handed him a pouch that contained food and a credit pass in her name.

"I will see that you get on an aircab," she said. "Use my credits for the transportation or any other need that arises. That way they will be unable to trace you."

"I am in your debt," he said with gratitude.

She raised a hand as if to fend off any further speech. "Just stay away from the Yanashites. Go home to your wife and children."

"But I, too, have become a Yanashite," Spock confessed, "and for now I am needed at Mount Seleya."

T'Prinka's greying eyebrows drew together in disapproval. "Sparn has done this! He lured you away from your family, into that fanatical cult!"

Spock drew himself up. "My aunt, with all due respect, I must say that you are mistaken. It was Yanash himself who took hold of me. The Shiav transforms every life that he touches."

"You speak as if this 'Savior' of yours is still alive."

"He is," Spock told her. "Come with me to Seleya. See for yourself how Sparn has been changed by him. Your husband speaks of you with fondness and regret. He wants you there at his side."

 _"_ _Fondness and regret?"_ she repeated with open sarcasm. "If Yanash can crack that heart of stone, I will follow him barefoot through the Devil's Anvil."

oooo

Rokar, Master of Gol, entered Sarek's office and solemnly greeted the ambassador.

Sarek appeared haggard as he stepped forward and returned the greeting. A bit too anxiously he asked, "Has Spock turned from the Way?"

Rokar maintained the perfect composure of a kolinahru. "Ambassador, I regret to inform you that your son has escaped. His treatment was not yet begun, but there was opportunity to question him."

Sarek sighed and said nothing.

Rokar continued. "Spock's statements were both lucid and consistent. Though threatened with the prospect of mental probing, he refused to change any aspect of his primary assertion."

"Which is?" Sarek prompted.

"T'rel N'hor Yanash has risen from the dead."

"But that is absurd," Sarek declared.

Rokar was unmoved. "Although I was unable to confirm it through direct mental contact, it is my opinion that your son believes what he is saying. In his mind, Yanash lives."

Sarek's face went gray and he closed his eyes. As if to himself, he said, "Madness lays like a blight upon my family…"

"If it is a madness," Rokar said, "it is infecting a great many more than your son and brother. The number of Yanashites grows daily."

Sarek looked at him with weary eyes and asked, "What is becoming of our world?"

Rokar received the query as a rhetorical question and gave no answer. Instead he said, "If you wish, we will intervene again. Spock was arrested on a civil charge. Technically, he is now an escaped prisoner."

"Not anymore," Sarek revealed. "The charges have been dropped. The complainant has withdrawn even his demand for reimbursement of the skimmer repairs."

"I was not aware of that development." Rokar pondered for a moment, then said, "It may yet be possible to break the Yanashite's hold on your relatives and on Mount Seleya. The High Council asked for criminal evidence. If, as I suspect, some form of mental control is being practiced among the Yanashites, the council will not hesitate to intervene."

"T'Gora said that Marek's mind is not being controlled," Sarek noted.

"There is no mind on Vulcan as powerful as his," Rokar said. "It may be that he is capable of manipulating test results. We need to see for ourselves what is happening on Mount Seleya. When I return to Gol, I will prepare two of my student-adepts for an investigative mission."

At that, the Master of Gol bowed his head and took leave of the ambassador. Once more Sarek stood alone in the shadows of his office.

oooo

Sparn feared for his nephew's life. By now Spock's arrest on a theft charge was a matter of public record. Perhaps one by one the authorities would find reason to arrest and kill them all.

A day passed, then two. Sparn tried to find reassurance in the words of the mysterious visitor. Like his nephew, Sparn was not a priest, but there was still plenty of work to keep him busy. Spock's absence had left 150 students without a teacher, so he took on those pupils along with his own class on the ancient texts. Even so, the hours passed slowly.

That night he rose from bed, dressed, and went out into the starlit courtyard. Even at this late hour he could hear voices on the breeze. The sounds came again, and he realized that these people were much closer than the fountain.

A man and woman emerged from the nearby stair path. Even in the shadows Sparn could see that the man was Spock. With a thrill of relief he started forward to embrace his nephew. Halfway there some inner tug made him hesitate and glance at the woman.

Sparn froze. He felt as if his heart was pounding out of his body.

For a moment T'Prinka returned his attention, then her gaze dropped. In the periphery of his mind Sparn felt Spock's hand briefly settle on his shoulder and was aware of his nephew discreetly withdrawing from the scene. Then he was alone with his bondmate.

Very softly he said, "Nasha…" _Precious one._

Her eyes rose, wide with amazement, wary with disbelief. Not even in the days of their betrothal had he spoken with such tenderness.

Stepping nearer, he offered his fingertips in the Vulcan gesture of marital intimacy. T'Prinka stared at his hand.

"Do not be afraid," he said. "You will never again have anything to fear from me."

Encouraged by his gentle manner, she cautiously raised her hand and met his touch. The bond between them tremored and began to ease open. Sparn gazed into her eyes and drew his fingertips over the psi-sensitive areas of her hand. Their surface thoughts brushed and retreated and met again.

Sparn touched trembling fingers to her face. Under cover of darkness he bent down and ever-so-gently kissed her lips.

Drawing a startled breath, she said, "I saved Spock because he is what I always wanted you to be. Now have you truly become like him?"

"You saved Spock?" The warmth in Sparn's heart deepened toward her. "Then I offer you my gratitude."

 _"_ _He_ is the one we must thank," she said. "I came only because he persuaded me."

"Then tomorrow we will thank both Spock and Yanash," Sparn said. "For now, I have much to share with you." There was no need to ask if she would come with him. "This way," he whispered, and led her to the privacy of his room.

Spock paused on the compound's porch and glanced back at the two shapes merging in the darkness. Even as he smiled, he experienced a sharp pang of loneliness. Seeing his aunt and uncle reunited made him yearn more than ever for the companionship of his own wife.

Leaving, he went into the compound and awakened Sorel. After discussing the details of his abduction and recent happenings at Seleya, he took a turn through a fresher and went to bed.

In the hour before daylight he had a dream. That in itself was not unusual, for he was half human. But the intensity of this experience gave it an eerie reality unlike any dream Spock remembered. A Vulcan wearing a light colored robe had appeared beside his bed and told him, "Spock, the immediate danger has passed, and the heart of your son cries out for you. Why is Simon not at your side?"

Spock had awakened before he could formulate a response. He lay thinking about the man in his dream and the mysterious messenger Sorel and Sparn encountered beside the Shiav's tomb. Then it was time to get up, but that was not the end of it. All day the dream haunted him, and the night that followed gave him little rest. Shortly before dawn he dropped off to sleep and the dream repeated in every detail.

It was still dark when Spock went to Seleya's com center and prepared a transmission. "Lauren," he began, "you may have heard disquieting reports, but be assured that I am well and still hold you in great affection. Though some bondmates are beginning to join us on Mount Seleya, you will be unable to visit until the High Council lifts its restrictions on aliens. Meanwhile, I continue to ask for your patience…and your trust. Over the years you have shown great tolerance toward my irreligious attitude. Now that I have received the gift of faith, I feel called to help our fledgling Yanashite Community grow."

Pausing, he leaned toward the camera, as if that might somehow bring her nearer. "Lauren… _aisha._ There is something more. The Shiav restored James to life, but I am proof that Yanash can heal more than bodies. We have another son in need of healing. I want you to send Simon here. Don't worry about his education; I will tutor him. For now the lessons he can learn among the Yanashites will be far more valuable than any other schooling."

To his eldest son, he said, "Simon, I know your first visit to Vulcan did not go particularly well. This experience will be very different from what you remember. I look forward to having you with me on Mount Seleya."

Spock reviewed the messages. Satisfied, he entered his credit code and transmitted. He had done all that he could, but he doubted if Lauren would take their son out of school and send him traveling the galaxy alone to live on a mountain that had been struck by a deadly earthquake.

A few days later he received a subspace reply that greatly surprised him. Simon had been "helped aboard a starliner by Mr. Kirk of Idaho" and was en route to Vulcan. Cleary exasperated with the boy, she added, "Good luck, dear. I hope you and the mountain can survive him."

Spock transported alone to retrieve Simon from the medical examiner. The boy had turned thirteen since Spock last saw him, and grown nearly three inches, but his face was more sullen than ever.

"I didn't want to come," Simon complained in a voice that was still boyish. "Mom and Jim made me."

"Well, I am glad they did," Spock said mildly.

He picked up his son's valise and carried it to the transporter. Toting a scuffed violin case, Simon reluctantly followed. A moment later the conversation continued at Mount Seleya.

Making way through the crowded visitor's center, Spock said, "You will not be bored here. There is much work to be done, and you'll share in it."

Simon stopped in his tracks to scowl. "Work? No one said anything about working."

"Everyone here works," Spock told him.

"For pay?"

"For the Shiav," Spock replied, "and for the privilege of living in the Yanashite Community."

Simon's face set. "This wasn't my idea. I'm not slaving away for your Shiav or anyone else."

Spock said nothing and resumed walking. When they reached the seclusion of the priests' stair path, he turned once again to his son. "Simon, it is simple to understand. If you behave in a respectful manner and your work is satisfactory, you will enjoy the benefits of Community life. If you choose to rebel, you will not eat…and it may be that you will find hunger a convincing teacher."

Simon appraised him through narrowed eyes. "What? No sturpas here?"

It had been six years since Simon saw one such instrument of discipline on Vulcan, and the boy had never forgotten it.

"I have no sturpa in my possession," Spock said, hoping that Simon would not choose to test him.

oooo

With the emergence of the fountain, water was no longer scarce on Mount Seleya. T'Prinka began to place great tubs of blooming plants in both the public and private courtyards. Soon every breeze carried with it the scent of flowers.

Simon's first work assignment was to help his aunt. With something less than enthusiasm, he took part in morning gardening chores and followed along whenever the healer T'Annel needed T'Prinka's assistance. His afternoons were spent in the cooler education center using a study program Spock designed for him.

Throughout each day Spock checked on the boy as often as his own duties permitted. When evening came, Simon sat at his side in the great dining hall and ate in silence. As soon as he was excused, the boy would bolt off to enjoy a free period and return only at his bedtime.

Tonight, after Simon left the dining hall in his usual brisk manner, T'Prinka came over and took the empty seat beside Spock.

"He has found himself in a strange world," she said kindly. "Any child might have difficulty adjusting."

Spock sighed. "If only it _were_ a simple matter of adjustment. Even on Earth, Simon's behavior was sometimes challenging."

Reaching out, T'Prinka touched his arm in a reassuring manner. "He is yet very young. Give him time; he will learn."

Later than same evening T'Naisa approached Spock in the courtyard and said, "Your son is so handsome! He has his mother's blue eyes and wavy hair, but his hair is dark like yours. Is it true that he's a musical prodigy?"

"Yes," Spock replied. "Simon is everything you say, and though he appears quite human, he also has some telepathic ability. But you of all people know what havoc can result when beauty and abilities are not regulated by moral character." Too late he realized that his words were hurtful. Seeing T'Naisa's pained expression, he said, "I did not mean that as a reprimand. I thought only that you might understand Simon better than any of us…and pray for him."

"I will," she promised.

Simon appeared in Spock's room precisely at his bedtime. Spock set aside his writing and looked at him. The boy was dripping wet from the fountain, where he often went to "cool off". Since Spock was proceeding slowly in minor disciplinary matters, he had not yet forbidden it. But he was troubled by the casual way his son treated the sacred site, and it reflected poorly on Spock as Seleya's administrator.

Simon stepped out of his sandals, stripped off his outer clothing, and stretched out on his cot. Putting his hands under his head, he stared at the stone ceiling.

Spock said, "Tomorrow your aunt is entering the morning inquiry class and will be working in the heat of the afternoon. Therefore I have arranged a new work assignment for you."

Only the boy's eyes moved. They darted coldly toward Spock, then refocused overhead.

Spock continued. "In the morning you will first play your violin for the children of our students, then clean the fountain annex until lunch." This seemed a good time to discuss Simon's proclivity for dowsing himself. "As for the fountain, you have been seen…'frolicking' there. I do not mind if you visit the site and benefit from its water, but from now on, you must act with appropriate decorum."

When Simon still gave no response, Spock said, "Did you hear me?"

"Yes." Simon rolled into a sitting position and frowning at him, asked, "Are you some sort of a priest?"

Spock drew in a slow breath. "No, Simon. I only manage Seleya's physical operation and instruct some seekers in the Way."

Simon's frown deepened. "Uncle Larry's a Catholic priest and he spent years in a seminary. These Yanashite priests have only been around for a few months."

"Their situation is very different from that of Laurence Fielding," Spock explained. "The Catholic Church has been established for more than 2000 years. Its system of religious training is solidly in place. The work here on Vulcan is only beginning. All of our priests were commissioned directly by the Shiav."

Simon thought a moment and then said, "Are you and Mom getting a divorce?"

The question took Spock aback. _Had Simon overheard_ _some remark from his mother?_ It was a moment before he could bring himself to say, "Of course not. Why would you ask such a thing?"

The boy shrugged and said, "You're never together anymore." 

Turning off the light, Spock went out to the temple and sat alone in a dim, secluded corner. Simon's words weighed heavily on his mind. Was it wrong of him to stay on Vulcan, robbing Lauren of her husband and the twins of their father? Should he take Simon and return to Earth? But leaving here would deprive Seleya of his services at a time when he was greatly needed, and he dreaded the thought of being cut off from the Community's rich social and sacramental life.

It was indeed a troubling problem for which there seemed no immediate solution. He could only hope that, in time, some unseen way would open to him and Lauren. Meanwhile, their future was in the hands of Yanash, but it occurred to Spock that there was another personal relationship in need of immediate repair. He had scarcely spoken to his daughter T'Beth since discovering his secret grandchild. Now, as he examined the many missteps in his own life, he wondered how he could ever have treated her so coldly. Tonight he would send T'Beth a kind, encouraging message that would include a sincere apology.

oooo

Simon had been on Mount Seleya for three weeks when he awoke at the first hint of dawn and found his father dressing. He pretended to be asleep until Spock left the room, then got up and followed the Vulcans heading for the temple. It was not the first time he had watched the early morning ritual called Kuru. He knew that only one of the priests would wear the special robe, only one would lead the ceremony and speak words over the red cup before sharing its contents.

At an early age, Simon had been taught the Vulcan language. He had no trouble following the words of the priest, but the speaking of the "consecration" gave him an uncomfortable feeling—a queasiness in the pit of his stomach—because at that point Spock knelt down with all the others.

Before coming to Seleya, he had never seen his father kneel or even bow to anyone. Now his father was doing it every day because of this dead Vulcan they called the Shiav. Acutely embarrassed, Simon left early and went back to their room. He was still there when his father returned from the ritual.

It was all Simon could do to look at him, and suddenly the question burst out. "Why do you kneel at the consecration? That stuff is just water."

Father turned and gave him his full attention. "At the consecration is becomes the _Living_ Water, which makes Yanash present to us in a sacramental way. A sacrament is an outward sign instituted by the Shiav to give us grace, which is a sharing in God's own life."

Simon thought it over. "So it's like the Communion they have in some churches on Earth?"

"Yes, certain Christian churches share a similar belief."

"If it's so good for people, why do you have to be a Yanashite to drink it?"

Father said, "It is a matter of receiving the sacrament in full knowledge and faith. One must first be properly instructed."

Quite sure of himself, Simon said, "I'll never be a Yanashite! Anyway, how could I? I'm not even a Vulcan."

His father just looked at him.

Simon decided to ask another question. "I've seen people kneel in front of the priests, and the priests touch them on the forehead and say something. What's that?"

"It is the Forgiving Touch," Father replied. "In that way, sins are brought before the priests and forgiven in the name of Yanash."

Simon felt his color rising. "Why do they have to do that? Why don't they just tell their sins to God?"

"I do not presume to question that which has been ordained by Yanash. He is well acquainted with the prideful Vulcan mind. The priest acts on the Shiav's behalf, bringing a vital element of accountability."

"Well, I think it's a rotten idea," Simon declared. "The priests get to see what everyone's been up to, but I bet no one checks on them."

"They also confess," Father said. Drily he added, "But if you feel a need to 'check on them', you may certainly do so, as long as you don't neglect any of your duties."

Simon did not find his father's idea of humor very amusing. Sarcasm always made him angry. He ate breakfast in a resentful mood, then went to the children's area and played music that was dark and brooding. Before heading to his next job, he overheard a conversation. It seemed that Spock and a companion had left the mountain and would not be back for hours.

Simon felt almost giddy with freedom. There was something he had been wanting to do for days, and here was the ideal opportunity. Every night he saw his father writing in a paper notebook that was kept on a very high shelf. His curiosity burned to know what secrets lay in those pages.

Postponing his work, he made a furtive beeline to their room. There he dragged his cot beneath the shelf and climbed up. A moment later the notebook was in his hands. With a wicked feeling of triumph, he settled onto his cot and riffled through the pages. The book was half filled with the busy, geometric script of Vulcan's First Language.

Simon picked a page at random and began to read. It was not as easy for him as speaking the language, but little by little he managed to translate and found an incredible story about his little brother James. He would never have imagined that his father would write fiction—or worse yet, lie. Spock was always so big on telling the truth, yet here he was, claiming that James had been brought back to life instead of being healed by Yanash, like Mom said.

Flipping back through pages, he found another whopper about Yanash stopping a sandstorm. He could not believe it any more than the talk about Yanash rising from the dead. That kind of thing only happened in Bible stories.

It was hours before his stomach reminded him that it was almost time for lunch. After replacing the notebook exactly as he had found it, he pulled his cot back under the high, deep-set window and hurried down the stair path to the work he had neglected. The fountain annex had been built so that it opened directly onto the meditation ledge where Yanash died. Each day hundreds of Vulcans passed through it as they left the fountain, each one of their feet tracking a never-ending trail of dirt. The floor looked worse than Simon had ever seen it. The towels set out for the pilgrims' use were soaked and grimy.

Simon felt a stirring of apprehension and knew he should begin cleaning at once, but the day had grown terribly hot and the mist coming in the doorway was very tempting.

He was outside enjoying the fountain when someone grabbed him by the back of his collar and propelled him into the dirty annex. Simon looked up at Spock and the bottom fell out of his stomach. He searched hard for an excuse, but it was glaringly apparent that no work had been done here all day.

"I was just going to start," he insisted.

"Yes, you _will_ start now," Father said, "and forego meals for the rest of the day."

No lunch _and_ no dinner! Until that very instant, Simon had not believed that his father would do anything more than lecture him. Glowering, he got to work.

At dinner, T'Naisa asked Spock, "Where is your son? I didn't see him at lunch, either."

For a moment Spock seemed to look inward. A muscle moved along his jaw. Then he said, "Simon is fasting."

"Oh," she said, and left it at that, but it not seem healthy for a growing child to fast.

Later that evening she came upon the boy in an unlit corner of the courtyard. Simon lay on his back, head pillowed in his hands, glaring at the face of T'Khut.

"Hello," she said.

Although they had spoken on several occasions, this time Simon acted as if she was not even there. He looked very angry about something.

She tried again. "Why are you fasting?"

Simon rose up and sat with one leg crossed under him. Fiercely he said, "I hate him! I hate it here and I want to go home!"

The words saddened T'Naisa. There was really no need to ask, but she said it anyway. "Who do you hate?"

"Mister Know-It-All," Simon seethed. "My father thinks he's so perfect, so smart."

T'Naisa sighed and sat down near him. Obviously he did not know about his father's role as an informer or he would never have made such a remark. But she would not be the one to tell him. Quietly she said, "I used to be mad at Spock, too."

Simon turned his head and looked at her. "You did? Why?"

The reasons were complex, but she said, "He wouldn't let me get away with anything. Your father is a man of high character."

 _"_ _Character,"_ he huffed. "That's one of his favorite words."

"It's more than just a word to him, Simon."

The boy stared at her. "You say he made you mad. Why? You're such a nice person, I'm sure he deserved it."

T'Naisa hesitated. This was fast becoming dangerous ground. How open and honest should she be? If only Yanash were here to advise her—but then she remembered. Though Yanash had returned bodily to the Father, his Spirit was very much present

Deep in her heart, T'Naisa asked for the Shiav's guidance…and the answer that came made her mouth go dry. She could not meet the boy's penetrating gaze—the eyes set so much like his father's, only blue. Hesitantly she said, "I'm ashamed for you to know, but…I'm not as nice as you think. I was a cadet at Starfleet Academy while your father headed the school. Because of my behavior, I was expelled. I'd been given every chance; your father tried hard to help me…but even so, I blamed him for everything that happened. Out of spite I began to harass your family. You were probably too young to remember that. I even took a gun and went after him…but thankfully your sister T'Beth intervened in time."

Simon's eyes were wide open. Even if he didn't remember the actual events, he had probably heard stories about it.

T'Naisa took a deep breath and went on to say the rest. "After that I was locked up for a while, but it doesn't end there. While on parole I devised a way to get back at him. There'd been a terrible accident during a planet survey. Captain Kirk and your father barely survived. I…used a Vulcan technique to alter the memories of two witnesses. I made it seem as if it was no accident at all—as if your father had tried to murder his friend Kirk."

Simon leapt to his feet, eyes blazing. _"You! You're_ the one who—" His voice broke off, his features twisted with rage. "You sent him to prison!"

Shamefaced, T'Naisa bowed her head in acknowledgement.

The boy spat a hateful expletive and ran off into the night.

oooo

Simon's bedtime had come and passed without any sign of the boy. Spock was about to go in search of his errant son when he heard the pounding of sandals and the door sprang open. Simon ran in and stood before him, his face full of anguish.

Alarm brought Spock to his feet. "Simon—what has happened?"

The boy pointed a finger toward the open door. "That…that woman. _T'Naisa._ Is she really the one?"

Spock closed the door. "Which one?" he asked, though already anticipating a reply that seemed utterly impossible.

"The one…the one who put you in prison!"

Spock's mind raced. The fact that a lie by T'Naisa had somehow sent him to prison was known by some of their Seleya companions, but who among them would discuss it with the boy? "Simon, I must know who told you such a thing."

"She told me herself!"

 _"_ _T'Naisa?"_ Spock could scarcely believe it, yet it did seem the likeliest of all the unlikely possibilities.

"Is it true?" Simon demanded.

Spock drew a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Yes. It is true."

Simon's hands clenched into fists. "Then I'll _kill_ her!"

"No," Spock firmly retorted, "you _will_ not." Taking hold of Simon's shoulders, he felt waves of painful emotions pounding against his mental shields. The boy must be calmed, and quickly. But how?

By some unVulcan instinct Spock drew his son into his arms and held him for the first time in many years. Simon did not struggle or push him away. The boy's fingers clutched at Spock's clothing and Simon began to weep bitterly.

"Why?" he lamented. "Why did she have to do it?"

"Godless lives produce Godless acts," Spock answered. "T'Naisa has changed since those days. She has come to know the Shiav. I am sure she did not tell you those things to hurt you."

"How can you say that?" the boy cried. "She ruined our lives!"

Spock felt his throat constricting and swallowed hard. "Those were indeed difficult times," he agreed, "but with Yanash I am coming to see the past differently. I am more troubled by the pain I caused others, than by any harm that was done to me."

Simon's voice muffled against his shoulder. "I thought I'd die when they took you away. Things were never the same again. It's not fair. I needed you!"

Tears pressed behind Spock's eyes and his arms tightened around the boy. "Sa-fu-kam…" The endearment tore at his throat. _My dear son._ "You know that I didn't leave you willingly. Don't be angry anymore. You have always had my love."

Simon drew back and searched his face wonderingly. "You really _do_ love me? After everything I've done?"

"You are my firstborn son," Spock told him. And a part of his mind thought: _This is how God must love_ _us—beyond all reason and all logic. Wholeheartedly._ And somehow Simon must be made to see the love of that Father, too. There would never be any lesson quite so important.

The boy was much calmer now. Spock remembered that Simon had not eaten anything since breakfast, and deciding it was punishment enough, asked, "Are you hungry?"

Simon wiped a hand across his face and nodded. "Starving."

Spock took him into the deserted kitchen and found some food left over from dinner. They sat together at a small table in a corner of the room. Simon ate quickly, silently.

When the boy's hunger was satisfied, Spock spoke to him about the healing Yanash brought into people's lives. It was not the first time, but for once Simon listened intently, so Spock gave a more thorough account that included all the grim details of the Shiav's death.

It was growing late when Spock said, "You have been entrusted with an important duty at the annex. The fountain is not just someplace 'fun'. From now on, when you work, think occasionally of the blood that was poured out on that stone."

Simon was very quiet. But back at their room, as he was preparing for bed, he suddenly turned to his father and said, "I…heard that Yanash brought my brother back from the dead. You haven't said anything to me about it. Is it true?"

The question was completely unexpected. Spock knew that Lauren had decided against telling the children the full story until they had grown beyond the age of petty jealousies. She had thought that Simon, in particular, would be a problem.

He asked, "Did your mother say that?"

Simon took on a guilty look. His eyes went to a shelf high in the corner of the room. "I read it," he admitted. "There, in that book of yours."

With a stab of apprehension, Spock wondered what else the boy had read. Reaching up on the shelf, he brought down the manuscript entitled "Betrayal and Redemption". Holding it, he said, "Everything in these pages is true. James died exactly as I have written. In his goodness, the Shiav restored him."

"Then why didn't Mom tell me?" the boy asked with some suspicion.

"What would you have done with the information? How would you have treated your brother?" When Simon did not respond, Spock finished, "Perhaps now you understand." And then he resolutely pressed onward, for it was a day of truths. "There is something else you must understand. Belief in Yanash did not come easily for me. I was an atheist who joined his followers in an attempt to discredit him, and I issued reports to that end. I…even recommended his arrest."

Simon's eyes grew wide with astonishment. " _You?"_

"With the understanding that he would be exiled according the law. But that does not excuse me."

Shaking his head, Simon softly said, "And they let you stay here…"

"It is the Way of Yanash." Spock put the notebook into his hands. "From now on, you are welcome to read it all."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Incense curled through the crowded Temple of Seleya as deep voices chanted a litany of prayer. The solemn ceremony was approaching its climax with the priests standing in a long row, perpendicular to the altar and the great icon that now hung above it. The painting was in an ancient style, containing much symbolism and beauty. It portrayed the risen Shiav standing upon the stone where he had died, holding out his wounded hands to Vulcans gathered at his feet. The blood flowing from his wounds gradually turned into streams of water that the Vulcans were collecting in their outstretched hands. It had been painted by Relan, the priest who reproached Spock when he was planning to leave for Earth. Now, Relan stood among the other priests in a show of solidarity and affirmation for the first candidate being admitted to the priesthood.

The chanting ceased. Marek, who once called himself the Grand Master of Kolinahr, humbly knelt before Sorel and received the mark of Yanash upon his forehead and hands.

Sorel intoned, "To you I give the Spirit of Life. Be not a master, but a servant. Welcome all those who come to you seeking release from their sins. Receive their thoughts and grant them forgiveness in the holy name of Yanash. To you I give the Spirit of Life. Into your hands I place the cup of salvation. May the Living Water bring grace to all who receive it in faith. Through your teaching and example may all Vulcans learn that our God is the Father of Love."

And he concluded, "Go forth, a priest of the Shiav Yanash forever."

As a gong was struck, Spock felt as if Yanash stood in their midst, watching. Then from deep in the temple a single note rose, as sweet and pure as morning. The bow-on-string slowly worked into a haunting Vulcan air that made Spock's heart swell with paternal pride. The fact that he had not requested this of his son made Simon's performance all the more touching. Simon was playing the violin out of love for him. Spock hoped that someday Simon would also play out of love for Yanash.

The music came to an end. The priests processed out of the temple, across the land bridge. Vulcans who had attended the ordination quickly filled the courtyard. Most were full Yanashites who were not averse to some forms of touching, or even a gentle smile. Their eyes shone with an inner joy that set them apart from traditional Vulcans.

Spock saw T'Naisa approach his son, no doubt to offer some word of appreciation, but the boy noticed her coming and left the scene. Simon had not yet found it in his heart to forgive her. As for himself, Spock had thanked T'Naisa for following the lead of Yanash and being truthful with the boy. Her act of honesty had precipitated a major breakthrough in his relationship with Simon, and Spock's own honesty had further deepened it. Although Simon could still be short-tempered and resentful when things did not go his way, the boy's behavior was greatly improved.

A pair of Spock's students came over to him. Nath and Dekin had recently begun their instruction in his intermediate class. Beside these others, they seemed stiff and emotionless. From the very first, Spock had experienced a strong inclination to dislike them.

For that reason he made his greeting particularly kind. "Dekin, Nath, it is good to see you taking an interest in our ordination."

Without preliminary, Dekin said, "Marek is a master of kolinahr. How can he also be a priest of Yanash?"

"The priesthood of Yanash supersedes all other titles," Spock replied. "Marek no longer calls himself Grand Master, for Yanash alone is Master."

Nath spoke. "Marek was told to 'receive thoughts'. For what purpose? What will be done with those thoughts?"

Spock raised an eyebrow. These questions had already been answered in class. "It is exactly as spoken in the ceremony. Priests receive the sins of penitents and offer the forgiveness of Yanash. Those thoughts are kept in complete confidence."

"What does the 'forgiveness of Yanash' entail?" persisted Nath.

"It is a spiritual cleansing that frees us from sin and helps us serve the Shiav with humility and love."

Dekin asked, "How does one serve the Shiav?"

Spock repressed a surge of annoyance. Such trying students were rare indeed. "One serves the Shiav by believing in him and following his commands. Did you not learn that in the first day of inquiry class?"

"But in what manner are his commands enforced?"

As patiently as possible, Spock explained, "Commandments are taught, not 'enforced'. Whether or not one follows them is an individual choice."

"And if we choose not to follow them?" Nath questioned.

"Then you will turn from the way of truth and its rewards."

There was a brief moment of silence, and Spock hoped they would be satisfied with his responses and leave.

Then Dekin said, "Why are the ashes of the dead no longer scattered from this mountain? Is it not a sacred place?"

With a stirring of pain, Spock thought of his mother's ashes lying somewhere below in the sand. "Only the grace of Yanash can make a person or a place holy. We will bestow his blessing on those Yanashites who die, but it is our belief that ashes should be held intact, not scattered. It is a matter of respect for the body."

Dekin went on to another question. "Is it true that the priests are now performing marriages here?"

"Yes," Spock replied. "A form of the traditional Toi-Chana bonding ceremony."

"What of the unbonded whose blood is burning?" Nath asked a bit too loudly for a public place. "Are they not permitted the rites of Chu?"

The courtyard had all but cleared, but Spock beckoned the two men into a secluded corner. Lowering his voice, he explained the delicate matter in plain language. "The rites of Chu are condemned by Yanash since all intimacies of that nature belong only in marriage. But Yanash has promised that those who in faith receive the Living Water will experience a much milder form of pon farr."

"How can that be?" asked Nath. "All males must endure the pon farr. It is a natural biological function."

Spock began by quoting Yanash. "'All things are possible with a God of love'. The Shiav teaches that pon farr is the result of sinful excesses in Vulcan's past. By his death, he has freed us from sin's power. When we live in cooperation with his grace, we are raised with him into a new life."

Nath's eyes narrowed. "And one need only drink this Living Water?"

"In faith," Spock stressed.

Dekin spoke. "And this Living Water contains…"

Yet again Spock repeated, "Living Water is ordinary water that has been consecrated by a priest and so contains the very essence of God."

Nath and Dekin exchanged a bland look.

Then Nath turned to Spock and said, "Something so very precious must be kept safe from unbelievers. Where do you store this Living Water?"

Spock found the blunt, interrogative nature of the conversation increasingly disturbing. It was a moment before he answered. "In view of present conditions on Vulcan, no place is safe enough. For now we consecrate only that which can be consumed during the daily Kuru."

He was about to firmly excuse himself when Nath and Dekin took leave of him and exited the courtyard. Greatly relieved, he was heading for the compound when his uncle approached him.

Sparn said, "I see those two are still at it. I could not help but overhear some of your discussion. In my inquiry class they persisted in asking many of those same questions." With a sigh he added, "It may be wrong of me, but I do not trust them."

oooo

Now that Simon regularly played his violin in the temple, his father had relieved him of most other duties so he could spend more time on his music. The Seleyan computer system gave Simon access to the planet's rich musical history, and he enjoyed working that unique Vulcan sound into his own original compositions.

Today in the temple his violin was joined by Vulcan woodwinds in a sweet but somber piece he had entitled "Daybreak". Simon felt it was his best work to date because it truly captured the sense of Yanash's holiness that he found in the pages of his father's notebook. He knew that holiness meant to be without sin. The Yanashites believed that their Shiav was not only holy, but the Source of all holiness. This belief was reflected in every sacramental ritual. Today, some graduates of Yanashite classes were receiving sacraments for the first time. Earlier Simon had watched his Aunt T'Prinka receive the Living Water. Now that evening had fallen, his father's group was preparing to confess.

The music came to an end. Simon lowered his violin. From his place near the sanctuary he watched the Vulcan penitents line up before the priests. One by one they came forward and dropped to their knees. As always, Simon's stomach went leaden at the sight. What must it be like? He could not imagine anything more embarrassing. Was it worth it? Afterwards, did they feel forgiven? Did they feel clean inside? Did Yanash really take away their sins?

He remembered a saying he had once heard on Earth. _You can't fool a Vulcan._

How then could all these Vulcans be fooled?

His eyes settled on the icon of Yanash high above the altar. The powerful but kindly eyes seemed to be looking directly at him. Simon quickly shifted his attention back to the ritual. A man had just knelt before Sorel. The leader reached out, put his paired fingers on the penitent's forehead, and closed his eyes. By now Simon had seen the process many times, but on this occasion something went wrong.

Sorel drew back his fingers as if burnt. His eyes snapped open and smoldered with anger as he said, "Yanash will not be deceived. Dalek, leave here at once."

The man got up and walked out of the temple. The next man in line went to his knees.

Looking at him, Sorel warned, "Nath, be very certain of what you are doing."

Sorel waited a moment, then reached for Nath's forehead. Abruptly Nath pushed the hand aside, sprang to his feet, and disappeared into the night.

After the ceremony, Simon found his father and uncle standing together with Marek. Father was saying, "Sparn, you were right to distrust them. Dekin and Nath have no interest in following the Way. According to Sorel, they are student-adepts of kolinahr, sent from the Hall of Ancient Thought to observe us."

"In that case I should have known them," said Marek. "It would seem that Rokar has been keeping some of his disciples hidden…and I can think of only one logical reason."

Father said, "He must have been instructing them in a path you would not approve."

"Precisely," Marek answered in a grim tone, "and it troubles me that he has joined forces with Dalek. The priests want Mount Seleya back, and they have shown that they will resort to treachery. Spock, be careful."

Later, in the privacy of their room, Simon questioned his father. "Why did Marek warn only you to be careful?"

Spock had been writing in his notebook and stopped to say, "I am sure the warning was meant for us all."

Simon had an uneasy feeling. "But that isn't what he said. Vulcans always say exactly what they mean. He singled you out. Why?"

Father gave him a stern look. "Only Marek can know why he spoke the way he did. Simon, I don't want to hear any more about it. You should be in bed."

"Yes, sir," Simon responded. He did not notice how his father's eyebrow lifted when he said "sir". He was too surprised at himself to do anything but obey. Stretching out with his face to the wall, he lay thinking.

oooo

Most days, Simon went to the temple soon after breakfast. It was an ideal place to practice his violin. He was there experimenting with a new composition when a rumbling startled him and the temple began to shake.

Crying out in alarm, he nearly dropped his violin.

The tremor stopped almost immediately. Heart pounding, he rose from his seat and was about to run outside when his eyes lit on the great portrait of Yanash hanging over the altar. It must have been firmly secured, because it was not even swaying—and something in the Shiav's calm face made Simon feel secure, too.

Standing there, he thought how wonderful it would be to feel anchored like that, always. Anchored in a stone that would never quake or shatter. Anchored in someone who would never be sent away or go off into space or get sick and die; someone who would understand him at every moment, who would know his thoughts even before he thought them, and love him even when his thoughts were bad.

Simon felt drawn to the altar. He did not know how long he remained beneath the icon, staring up at the charismatic blue eyes and the green blood and the crystalline water. But slowly he came out of the strange mood, and taking his violin, left the temple.

At lunchtime, hunger and talk of the earthquake distracted him from his odd experience with the temple icon. After his meal, he left with every intention of commencing his studies. On the way to the learning center, he passed near the fountain annex. The day was growing very hot, and the mist in the air seemed so irresistible that he walked in and lingered near the doorway, watching the pilgrims at the gushing water.

 _Maybe just one quick dousing,_ he thought _._

Simon went out to the fountain. The water hissed as it geysered high above his head. It poured down in a cool rain that quickly soaked him along with everyone else. He stepped a bit nearer, so that he had a clear view of the crack from which the water was gushing, and caught sight of a small, perfectly round hole in the stone. Curious, he bent down and slipped his index finger into the opening.

Beside him, a male Vulcan said, "It is from a spike—one of the metal rods that impaled him."

Horrified, Simon jerked his hand away and ran back into the annex. For a moment he stood, dripping wet, shaken by emotions for which he had no name.

"Simon Spock," a woman's voice chided, "that fountain is not here for your amusement."

Simon looked into the face of the annex supervisor. He found himself asking, "Yanash was buried here in a tunnel, wasn't he?"

"Yes," she replied, "in one of the most ancient sections. I saw it once; the way to the tomb has been clearly marked. The tunnel can be entered from the foyer of the priests' compound, but one must first receive permission."

Thanking her, Simon left the annex and slowly walked toward the learning center. But then something made him stop, turn around, and head back to the priests' compound. Driven on, he left the stair path, went to the foyer, and located the tunnel door. It was not even locked. Never for a moment considering the consequences, he swung it open and stepped inside. The air smelled stale. The stone passage was very cool, lit only by a bluish glow in the distance.

Already shivering in his wet clothes, he began walking toward the light. Three times he reached doors, opened them, and passed through. He came at last to a section that had been heavily reinforced. A single lamp shone beside an opening cut deep into the native rock.

Simon's teeth chattered as he read the tomb's placard. _So this was it_. How cold Yanash must have been, buried down here. Locked away, all alone with the woman who had helped kill him.

Tears of sympathy blurred Simon's vision. Aloud he said, "I'm sorry they treated you so rotten, but it's wonderful how you forgave everyone." He swallowed hard against a lump in his throat. "Where are you now? I'm not very Vulcan at all, but my father is. You know him. You know my brother, too. You touched Jamie and he came back to life. I wish you could touch me like that."

Dashing the tears from his eyes, he noticed a faint light in the tomb hole. And not far from the opening, there was a neatly folded blanket.

"Is that yours?" he asked.

Something urged him to reach for it. In a moment the pure white blanket was in his hands. Smiling, Simon wrapped himself in its warmth and felt as if the arms of Yanash were around him.

oooo

Spock was disappointed when he discovered that Simon had shirked his afternoon studies in the learning center. He had hoped that the improvement in their relationship would make it easier for Simon to obey him. What use was it to say "yes sir" if the boy later went off and did whatever he pleased? Now Spock would have to take time away from his busy schedule to find his delinquent son and deal with him.

In the fountain annex he found a woman who had seen Simon out in the water. Based on her words with the boy, she suggested that Spock look in the burial tunnel. His irritation growing, Spock lit a torch and unlocking door after door, made his way through the black passages, to the tomb of Yanash. There beneath the tomb's opening, his son lay wrapped in a blanket, sound asleep.

 _How had he gotten his hands on a tunnel key?_ Then Spock took a closer look at the blanket and all thought of keys fled from his mind.

Anger flooded him and he thundered, "Simon!"

The boy's eyes snapped open. He sleepily raised himself on one elbow, but his burgeoning smile faded when he saw the look on his father's face.

"Oh no," Simon said. "What time is it?"

"It is time for an explanation," Spock informed him. Reaching down, he snatched the precious blanket off his son and ordered, "Stand up!"

Simon obeyed with a frightened look.

Spock held the blanket out to him. "This is the Shiav's burial cloth. Of all things for you to take!"

The boy's eyes widened. He hugged his arms tightly and began to shiver. "I…I found it inside the tomb. Back where it's light."

Exasperated by the lie, Spock said, "There is no light inside the tomb, and as you well know, this blanket is not kept there."

"But that's where I found it!" Simon insisted. He turned and stared at the dark opening. His voice took on a note of desperation. "A light _was_ in there—I saw it—I really did!"

Spock almost slapped him. Bringing himself under some control, he curtly said, "Come with me."

They left the tunnel and went to the hidden closet where items sacred to the Yanashites were stored. Simon watched in silence as Spock carefully folded the blanket and returned it to its case.

Securely locking the cabinet, Spock said, "Of course you realize I will have to inform Sorel of what you have done, and he may very well expel you." And he nearly added, _I should never have brought you here._

"But I didn't do _anything,"_ Simon stubbornly asserted. "I've never even seen this room before!"

Wordlessly Spock took the boy to their quarters, got out a belt, and doubled it in his hands. It occurred to him that he was too out of control to deal with his son just now, and that this would better be left until later, but the enormity of Simon's misconduct seemed to demand immediate, severe punishment.

"You neglected your studies," Spock said. "You misappropriated a sacred object and treated it like…like a _beach towel._ You made up outrageous lies to hide what you have done. Simon, what has come over you?"

Simon hung his head. His lower lip trembled, his face contorted, and he began to cry.

Annoyed, Spock snapped, "If you have anything at all to say, speak up!"

As Simon struggled for composure, Spock recalled yet another aspect of the situation. "And what of the keys you used to open the cabinet and the tunnel doors? What has become of them?"

"There _were_ no keys," the boy insisted against all logic. "I didn't need one in the tunnel because the doors weren't locked! And the blanket was already there, just like I told you!"

More lies. Spock's lips pressed together in a taut line. Taking Simon by the arm, he turned him over the meditation bench and was about to whip him when an image of Solkar arose. It was in just such a manner that Spock's great-grandfather had beaten him on many an occasion. For that reason he had resolved never to strike a child. One time only he had spanked Simon—with calm purpose, not overcome by anger.

Coming to his senses, he tossed the belt aside and strode from the chamber. After delegating a few Community matters to his assistant, he retreated to the temple and remained there until darkness descended. There by himself he reviewed every detail of the incident. _How could Simon have behaved so irresponsibly? Why was he lying in so brazen a manner?_

When Spock left the temple, a brisk wind was blowing. Out past the land bridge, a single torch would be seen burning in the courtyard. Its flame writhed with each movement of the air. For a time he stood watching, his mind still deeply occupied. With a particularly strong gust the flame twisted and flickered almost to the point of extinction, then suddenly caught hold again. And at that instant a new thought struck him.

Spock hurried back to his room. Simon had lit the small meditation lamp and was lying on his cot.

Seeing him, the boy stirred and spoke in a voice choked with tears. "Father…are you going to whip me?"

Spock had not yet decided what to do with him. Moving closer, he said, "I saw no torch with you in the tunnel. How did you light your way?"

Simon sniffled and sat up, eyes downcast. "I didn't think I needed a torch. There was always enough light, just up ahead."

Spock had been in the tunnel many times. The darkness deep in the mountain was absolute. No one ventured there without some reliable source of light. Torches were most often used for two reasons: a healthy flame indicated a safe level of oxygen, and a torch also gave off welcome heat.

"Light just up ahead," Spock repeated with skepticism. "Perhaps the beam from your own flashlight?"

 _"_ _No,"_ the boy insisted. "It was a bluish glow, like the light inside the tomb. I just kept following it." Bitterly he said, "But you won't believe me, you don't believe any of it. _Yanash_ knows I'm not lying. Why don't you ask _him?"_

At the unexpected mention of the Shiav, Spock felt a tightening in his stomach very different from anger. For the first time he actively considered the possibility that—however unlikely—Simon might actually be telling the truth.

Quietly he said, "Explain to me again why you were at the tomb. From the beginning."

Simon bowed his head. "I wasn't trying to get out of studying. It was just a feeling that came over me. I felt it this morning when the earthquake hit…and again, at the fountain. I…I guess I just wanted to get close to Yanash. When I reached the tomb, I tried to talk to him like I'm talking to you now. I was wet and cold. When I saw the blanket, I thought maybe he'd put it there just for me. It felt so good and warm. I didn't know that I was doing anything wrong, Father, honest. It's the truth—look into my mind if you want."

The words were uttered with such simplicity that Spock slowly reached down, and placing his fingers on Simon's face, soon learned the truth. Both logic and emotion had failed him; he had looked for natural explanations to explain a supernatural event. Today Yanash had visited his son, but Spock had refused to acknowledge it. He had called Simon son a liar and come close to beating him.

Stricken with remorse, Spock broke the meld and said, "What have I done?" Numbly he sank down beside his son and stared hard at the attunement flame. "I had wanted to show you the Shiav's love; instead I showed you the worst of myself."

After a moment Simon slipped an arm around his waist and leaned against him, completely silent. And for now there was no need for more.

oooo

The priests of Yanash had convened a Council to discuss a question of Community membership. Every interested party had been heard, and now Sparn listened while his nephew stood to present some final remarks.

Spock was saying, "You have all witnessed the positive changes that Yanash is working in my son. You have seen how Simon has devoted his musical talent to our temple rites. Earlier this morning he came before you and gave a verifiable account of the spiritual favors he has received. Simon is not asking for any special recognition—only for the right of full participation in the Yanashite faith." In completion he calmly added, "That is all either of us asks of you."

Spock sat down beside Sparn in the general seating area of the chamber.

Impatient to speak one last time, Sparn rose to his feet. "I admire my nephew's restraint. I, who from childhood have known nothing but Vulcan blood—I am surprised at you!" He searched the faces of those priests and members of the laity—both male and female—who had expressed some opposition to admitting Simon. "Spock, as you know, is but half Vulcan, yet the loving Shiav never ceased calling to him even while Spock traveled the wrong path. Priests of Yanash, I ask you: At what genetic degree does one cease to be Vulcan enough?"

Sparn leaned forward and rested his hands on the chair in front of him. "Before I committed myself fully to Yanash, matters of race were of great concern to me. I have written of my shameful reluctance to travel to Spock's home on behalf of the Master. I have behind me a lifetime of pride and prejudice…and I cannot help but wonder if those same insidious sentiments might be influencing some of us here today."

From his seat at the priests' table Sorel said, "It is not a matter of racism. Yanash said, 'I came for the people of Yatara'."

Sparn argued, "Does he not also say, 'Welcome all those who come to you'?"

"Taken in full context," Sorel replied, "one can logically assume that Yanash was referring to all those Vulcans who come to us seeking release from their sins."

Sparn straightened. "Has it now become a matter of logic? Yanash has called this child by grace and overt signs. Why do we sit here discussing genetics? Would it matter even if Simon were fully human? What matters is the will of God…and I believe that Yanash has made that will abundantly clear, not only by favoring Simon, but also by raising Simon's brother from the dead. Or do you believe that Yanash cares more for the body than for the soul?"

Marek asked, "Are you suggesting that anyone and everyone should be admitted to the faith?"

"In his lifetime Yanash excluded no one, Vulcan or non-Vulcan. It is true that he once said, 'I came for the people of Yatara'. I was present. The Shiav was speaking to an outworlder who demanded healing as if it were his right. Yet when that same outworlder humbled himself, even he was healed. In view of this, how can we turn anyone away? It is written that Yanash said, 'Raise the stone and there you will find me; cleave the wood and there I am'. Can you then believe that he is not also in the living heart of this dear boy?" Sparn sighed and shook his head. "If this will not convince you, there is nothing more I can say. As for Spock and his son—they have consulted Yanash in prayer and pledged complete obedience, however you may decide."

Weary from the effort, he sank into his seat. It would take more than his poor words to move some of these stubborn hearts.

Sorel polled the group for further comments, and finding none, dismissed his fellow priests for the interval of private meditation that preceded every decision of importance.

Three hours later they returned to the table. As soon as everyone was present, Sorel reconvened the Council. Then he said, "The question that has been brought before us concerns Simon, son of Spock, son of Sarek. Can we admit him to the Yanashite Community of faith?"

Sorel nodded to the priest at his left, and the voting began. As always, it was by public affirmation, a simple yes or no.

As Sparn listened anxiously for each voice, he could only imagine what his nephew was feeling beneath that placid exterior. In order for Simon to be admitted, the vote would have to be unanimous.

Marek first gave his assent, and the balloting went halfway around the table without any opposition. Unbroken, the vote came at last to Sorel.

Solemnly their leader opened his mouth and said, "So be it."

oooo

The fountain annex had been scrubbed and decorated with T'Prinka's flowers for today's Rite of Ablution. Very little dirt was tracked in now that drainage issues had been addressed and paving stones installed wherever necessary.

Spock was proud that his son had volunteered for the improvement project. Though Simon's musical and academic studies kept him quite busy, he had still managed to contribute many hours of labor. These days, the boy seemed to derive a great deal of pleasure from helping others. Even now, with the ceremony about to begin, he could be seen in his ablution robe readjusting a pot of flowers under his aunt's direction.

As soon as the boy rejoined the other candidates, Sorel declared that everything was ready. The flow of pilgrims had been stopped at the Visitor's Center. Even if this were not a private ceremony, there would have been no way to accommodate so many people. Due to the ever-increasing number of candidates, it had become necessary to divide even them into smaller, more manageable groups. Each ten or so candidates would be handled by a different priest.

Simon was in Marek's group. When the moment came, Spock looked on as Marek called his candidates forward and said, "This solemn rite signifies your entry into the life of faith. By the water, you will be washed clean. By my touch, Yanash will welcome you."

Marek then led them in the vows of fidelity. He spoke each phrase of the creed and the candidates repeated the words after him in unison.

Spock heard Simon's young voice among the others. He gazed at his son's face, so alive with unquestioning faith, and was overwhelmed with gratitude. Sparn had argued well in the Council, but only the grace of God could have brought them to this remarkable moment.

There remained just one thing lacking. Spock wished Lauren and the rest of his family could be here, joining in his pleasure. Recently Simon had told his mother about his newfound faith and his desire to remain with Spock in the growing Yanashite Community. Lauren had been quick to respond. In her com she seemed hurt and angry. _"Stay on Vulcan? Spock, you've already been away too long. I want you both home."_

Replying, Spock had said, _"Not just yet. How can I tell you of what is happening here? Of something that is greater than any words? Despite our separation, my love for you has only deepened. How much more easily I can say it now. Yes, I love you."_

And again she had responded, _"Not just yet, Spock? What does that mean? Look at the way we're living. It's because I love_ _you_ _that I want us to be together. I want us to be able to share everything—as a family. But now I'm not sure that is even possible."_ Tears welled in her eyes and softly she said, _"There are things that I haven't told you, either. I don't care what it takes, but I want you and Simon home for Christmas. Those people can get along without you for a month or two. For the sake of our marriage, we have to get this straightened out."_

To Lauren the Yanashites were only "those people", and of little importance to her. But was he not one of them? And now however many times Spock questioned her about the "things" she had not told him, the reply was always the same. _"We'll talk about it when you get here."_

Pushing the worry from his mind, Spock focused on Simon. With their vows completed, the ten candidates formed a line and followed Marek outside, near the gushing fountain. The air was cool and wet with mist as Marek spoke a blessing over the geyser. Then one by one he positioned each candidate under the main downpour and recited the sacred words of ablution. At Simon's turn, Spock struggled to maintain his composure as Marek laid hands upon the boy and said, "Simon Spock, be washed clean…through the power of the Father, and of the Shiav, and of the Spirit that dwells within."

Simon came out soaked, and embracing him, the priest said, "Welcome to the Community of Yanash."

Then Simon found his father, and smiling through tears of joy, hugged Spock with all his might.

oooo

It was an exciting time for Simon. He easily passed the intermediate class taught by his father, where he was instructed more deeply in the faith and prepared for the Forgiving Touch that had always made him so nervous. On the day of his first confession he told the halfling T'Naisa that he was no longer so angry about the past. Then he chose for his confessor a priest he did not know very well. The young Vulcan welcomed him with such kindness and understanding that Simon experienced very little embarrassment. After that, he moved on to the advanced class and was soon receiving the Living Water. Now that he had been fully admitted to the sacraments, he looked forward to assisting at Kuru in other ways besides playing music.

But for today, his thoughts were elsewhere. Father was taking him on a trip with Sparn and T'Prinka. After breakfast they transported to a settlement called Baruk and rented a groundcar. Flying inches above the road, Father drove them to a neglected orchard on the outskirts of town. The property had been left to him by his grandfather Skon.

Leaving the car, they walked out under the old, gnarled trees. Father and Uncle Sparn discussed plans for a temple and school that the Yanashites hoped to build there someday, if the permits could be secured. For now, the government was barely tolerating their presence at Seleya and was sure to oppose any expansion.

After a while they split up and went looking for survey markers. Sparn and T'Prinka headed north, and Simon accompanied his father in the opposite direction.

When they were alone, Simon said, "Does Mom know you're giving away the property?"

Father stopped and looked at him. "When I was in prison, I told her to sell this land and use the money to pay our bills. She didn't do it because she knew it had been a gift from a man I revered. She would be pleased that I'm donating this land to the Community in Skon's name."

"Oh," Simon said. In other words, she _didn't_ know. He asked, "Wasn't Skon the father of Sparn and Sarek? How come he gave the land to you, instead of his own sons?"

Father's expression grew distant, and at last he said, "Skon's life was cut short by disease. He was a wise, kindly man. Perhaps he left the property to me as a remembrance."

Eridani beat down as they continued walking. Simon wondered when they would start back to town. His father had promised they would shop for gifts to take home with them at Christmas. He was training two assistants to replace him, and their flight was scheduled in two weeks.

"I really do like it on Seleya," Simon said, "but I'm looking forward to going home, too—as long as it's just a visit." That was the only thing he was worried about. "Father…you won't make me stay on Earth, will you?"

Spock had found an old survey marker and after kicking it clean with the toe of his sand boot, turned to Simon. "I've already said that I am agreeable to your staying, but we must also consider your mother's feelings."

Simon's heart sank. "I know. But I want to be with you." He expected his father to lecture him about sensitivity toward others. Instead, his father's eyes warmed and he smiled a little.

Then, approximating the angle of the property line, Spock set off in a new direction.

Simon said, "If the school gets built, you and Uncle Sparn will be in charge of it, won't you?"

"That is Sorel's wish," came the reply. "We could all live here together. Perhaps by then the law will allow the rest of the family to join us."

Simon did not see how that was possible. "But Mom is a doctor in Starfleet. How could she live here?" Father was so silent that at last Simon said, "I miss her."

After a moment Father confided, "As do I."

They were passing another grove of trees. Simon heard a faint noise behind him, like a pebble struck by a shoe. He began to turn and noticed that his father was turning, too.

There was a darting motion at the edge of his vision. One—no, _two_ people, and they were coming fast. The figures leapt toward Simon and his father, and fingers sank hard into Simon's neck. Then he felt his body collapsing and the world went dark around him.

Spock saw his son start to drop. Instantly he deflected the fingers that were settling on his own neck and drove the heel of his hand into the startled face of his attacker. The Vulcan male grunted with pain, staggered back, and barely recovered his balance. Blood flowed from his mouth.

Poised to fight, Spock moved in front of his unconscious son. The injured man and his companion kept their distance.

"Who are you?" Spock demanded to know.

"Irrelevant," said the second attacker. He coolly produced a hand phaser and targeted Spock's chest. "Pick up your son."

Spock did not move. "If you want me, I will go with you. But he is only a boy—leave him."

"Do as you were told. Pick him up. _Now!"_ His finger pressured the phaser's trigger meaningfully.

Spock turned and lifted his son into his arms. Simon's head lolled back lifelessly, mouth open and mute.

The Vulcan with the weapon spoke an order into his wrist phone. Spock heard a familiar ringing and felt a transporter beam enclosing him. The orchard faded from view. Cooler air rushed over his skin. A sense of utter blackness disoriented him, and he lost his balance, sprawling with Simon onto a rock-solid surface.

Nearby, someone moaned in the darkness.

Spock disentangled himself from Simon and sitting up, asked, "Who is there?"

"Spock?" came his uncle's voice.

"Yes, T'teer."

Overhead, intense lights switched on, blinding Spock with their brilliance. He heard movement. Shielding his eyes with a hand, he blinked and squinted until his vision could adjust. He found himself in a room hollowed out of black stone. Two robed Vulcans were carrying Simon and T'Prinka out the only door. As they entered a passageway, a security field spread across the opening and the lights dimmed to a more comfortable level.

Spock quickly rose and approaching the barrier, reached toward it. Raw energy electrified the hairs on his arm, and his skin tingled so painfully that he backed a step...and bumped into his uncle, who was also standing now.

"What manner of place is this?" Sparn whispered. "It feels so…"

Spock's heart pounded. The air itself seemed leaden from the mass of sterile minds pressing in on him. Oh, he knew this place well. For over two years he had lived in an adjacent cloister as a student of kolinahr, attempting to uproot every vestige of emotion; at other times he had visited here, as to a holy place, never seeing it for what it was—a wretched shrine to Vulcan intellect.

Drawing a deep, steadying breath, he said, "We are in the Hall of Ancient Thought."

Distant footsteps echoed from the adjoining tunnel. As the sounds came nearer Spock waited, motionless, for their captors to appear.

Two hooded figures arrived outside the barrier. Rokar, the Master of Gol, gazed upon him with dark, dispassionate eyes. At his side stood the High Priest, Dalek.

Sparn immediately confronted them. "What have you done with T'Prinka and Simon?"

Rokar and Dalek looked at him as if he were some curious form of insect.

"Your family members are unharmed," Rokar said, "and will remain so if you cooperate."

"What you describe is blackmail," Spock pointed out.

Dalek's eyebrow lifted. "'Blackmail' is a human term. We speak only of cooperation. The Master will explain what you must do."

Rokar spoke. "Do you not call yourselves 'priests of Yanash'?"

"No," Spock denied.

"You are Yanashites and teachers of the 'Way'. Surely you know how to produce your so-called 'Living Water'."

"A priest effects a change to Living Water through the words and the power of Yanash. But we are not priests."

Rokar posed another question. "Do you attest that those who partake of your 'Living Water' are spared the full rigor of pon farr?"

"Those who receive the Living Water in faith," Sparn answered. "Why question us on this matter? You have the testimony of your spies, Nath and Dekin. Do you know that on Mount Seleya they swore vows of fidelity to Yanash?"

"The words held no meaning for them," Rokar said.

"Then in speaking the words, they lied," Sparn accused.

Rokar chose to ignore the remark. He broadened his attention to include Spock, as well. "In the back of your cell you will find a container of water. Go—pronounce your Yanashite words over it. Produce for us the 'Living Water' and your family will be returned to you."

With deepening apprehension, Spock glanced at his uncle.

Sparn was staring at Rokar, his eyes narrowed with anger. "What you propose runs contrary to our teachings. For one thing, we are not priests. Secondly, the Living Water is forbidden to unbelievers. Your very touch would desecrate it."

"Come now," Rokar said condescendingly, "we are speaking only of water. It is nothing compared to blood—the blood bond of your family members."

Spock explained, "The Living Water is our blood bond with our God."

" _Your_ God?" remarked Dalek. "You teach that there is but _one_ God. Therefore is he not our God, as well?"

"He is indeed," Spock said, "but you do not know Him."

"Then," Dalek interjected smoothly, "we will come to know him through your 'Living Water'."

There was a moment of palpable silence.

The evil that was being proposed made Spock sick to his stomach. "I tell you we cannot," he answered for himself and for his uncle. "I tell you now, it does not matter what you do to us. We will not cooperate."

Rokar's eyebrow rose infinitesimally. "Do to you? Be assured, you devotees of Yanash will receive the best of care." He signaled Dalek and they started to walk away.

"What of my wife?" Sparn loudly demanded. "And Spock's son?"

Rokar paused and looked back. With icy detachment he said, "You have chosen your blood bond. Is not your God enough? These others who mean nothing to you will be released."

Spock felt a cautious stirring of relief. "Released? When?"

"At once," replied Rokar. "We have no use here for an old woman and a mongrel child. We will release them to the Devil's Anvil and see who claims them—their Yanashite God or Vulcan's devil. The Eater of Souls."


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Simon huddled beside his great-aunt in the back seat of a skimmer as it flew low and fast over the desert. The Vulcan pilot and his companion frightened him; they were Nath and Dekin, the same men he had seen expelled from the temple.

Working up his courage, Simon loudly asked for the third time, "Where's my father? What have you done with him and my uncle?"

Dekin turned in the passenger seat and looked back at him without any sign of emotion. "Why concern yourself with them? They care only for their God."

"That's not true," Simon said. "You…." He broke off, alarmed, as the skimmer abruptly came in for a landing. They were nowhere near a settlement. The parched desert wasteland stretched as far as the eye could see.

The door beside Simon slid opened, and the searing influx of heat seemed to suck the air from his lungs.

"Get out," Dekin ordered.

Simon grabbed hold of T'Prinka's arm.

She glared at Dekin. "You said you were releasing us!"

"And so we are," replied Nath.

Dekin spoke tonelessly. "It was within your men's power to spare you, but they have chosen not to. You Yanashites are a cruel, illogical breed."

 _"_ _You're_ the cruel ones!" Simon exploded. "My father would never allow this! How can you blame him?"

Wordlessly Dekin disembarked from the skimmer, opened T'Prinka's door, and dragged her outside. As he turned toward Simon, she attacked him, but succeeded only in tearing his clothes before he knocked her to the ground.

Dekin reached back in for Simon. Bracing himself, Simon aimed a kick at the Vulcan's face. Dekin caught him by the ankle and roughly yanked him out. Then seizing him with both hands, he hurled him through the air.

Simon landed face-down in the scorching red sand. He felt his skin start to burn and scrambled to his feet. The skimmer rose over his head and arced through the shimmering heat waves. Its whine slowly faded to a desolate silence.

Simon heard the blood pounding in his ears. His face stung from sand burns and the scarlet blaze of Eridani. The soles of his feet felt as if they were on fire. Each panicky breath made his throat drier and drier.

He remembered hearing that Vulcan's desert temperatures could reach 160 degrees in the shade—if only there _was_ shade in the desert. Already the sweat was running off him in rivulets.

He turned, and finding his aunt standing nearby, said, "We're going to die…aren't we?"

T'Prinka bent over and tore a section from her long, flowing dress. Then she draped the pale yellow fabric over Simon's head and tucked the ends securely into his collar. The makeshift hood brought some relief.

Simon was glad that he had worn his usual loose-fitting Vulcan trousers and long-sleeved tunic that belted at the waist. Their light color reflected the worst of Eridani's rays, but his feet were hotter than ever. The pain made him start to hop from one foot to another.

To his embarrassment, T'Prinka reached out and lifted him into her arms.

"No," he protested. "Let me down, I can stand."

T'Prinka gave him a stern look. "I may be old, nephew, but I am Vulcan. You do not weigh nearly as much as you think."

Simon realized he was in no position to argue. Linking his fingers behind his aunt's neck, he repeated, "We'll die without any water."

She set off walking. "Yanash knows our needs. He knows what evil has been done to us. Remember how he covered you with his burial blanket when you were cold?"

Now, with all of Simon's world on fire, he found it hard to recapture the memory of that cool feeling. Yet he had no trouble recalling the comfort that Yanash gave him. "Yes," he said, "I remember."

"We will pray," T'Prinka said with deep faith, "and perhaps this time he will protect you from the heat."

oooo

Spock had examined every nook of the cell for some way of escape, and found none. Seated on the rough stone floor, he watched Sparn pace and bemoan the many ways in which he had failed T'Prinka during their lengthy marriage.

"I did not appreciate her sweetness; I was overbearing and made her life miserable," Sparn was saying. "I had only begun to make some reparation. Now must she die like this?" He stopped and glared at the force field. "He called her an old woman! He called your son a mongrel!"

Spock had never seen his uncle so agitated, and he was not without his own concerns. In two weeks he and Simon would have been safely on their way to Earth. When he thought of Simon and T'Prinka wandering Vulcan's fiercest desert, he too felt great helplessness and outrage. And if Simon died? He frankly feared what Lauren would say to him.

Suddenly Sparn turned his way. In a quiet, intense voice he said, "I feel as if we are murdering them. Surely Yanash cannot want this to happen. Perhaps he would understand if we do what Rokar is asking. After all, we need only tell him that we spoke the words of consecration. He believes that we are priests and will draw his own conclusions."

Anger seemed to rise from the depths of Spock's soul. Standing, he faced his uncle and said, "Surely I did not hear you correctly."

"Your son is out there, too!" Sparn snapped. "Have you no concern at all for him?"

Spock struggled against the pain inflicted by his uncle's words. "How can you ask such a question? You know what Simon means to me, but we have pledged our lives to serve the Shiav, and he calls us to a life of integrity. You were there when Yanash restored my son James; if he chooses now to take Simon from me, I must somehow accept it, just as you must accept the loss of T'Prinka. We must trust in his wisdom and goodness. We must keep faith."

Spock picked up the container of water and raised it for Sparn to see. "You were with me on the feast of Surak. You saw how Yanash gave himself for us. You saw how he established a way for us to revisit his sacrifice each day. He has given his own blood to be our spiritual food. If only once in a lifetime he were to come to us in this manner, it would be an event so very sacred that we would prepare ourselves for years." He lowered the container to his side. In a gentler tone, he said, "It was you who first led me to Yanash. I cannot believe that you would dishonor his sacrifice with a blasphemous lie."

Sparn sank to the floor and sat with his head bowed. After an interval he said, "Perhaps, if we refuse food and drink until they are returned to us…"

"Uncle, you know the desert would claim them before such a fast would even be well underway." Though their circumstances were intensely frustrating, Spock clung to the promise of the Shiav's unchanging love. "Simon and T'Prinka are in the care of Yanash. He holds all power over life and death. Whatever comes, we must…"

Footsteps sounded in the passage. For the third time Rokar and Dalek arrived outside the force field.

"Well?" Rokar said. "Have you produced your 'Living Water'?"

For answer Spock upended the container and let its contents splash out on the floor.

Dalek stiffened. "Insolent!"

Rokar stayed him with a gesture. He centered his attention on Sparn, who remained seated in a dejected posture. "You Yanashites disgust me. You speak freely of love, yet you abandon your wife and your son to a slow, painful death. Their suffering means nothing to you. After all, you are comfortable. There is no heat blistering your skin, and you pour out the very water that could be saving your family. You and your Yanash are a miserable breed."

Sparn's head came up. "Say what you wish about us, but do not speak against the Shiav."

Spock set down the empty container and approached the force field. "If you find Yanash so despicable, why then do want his Living Water?"

"For the power you say it holds," Dalek replied. "If in fact it can damp the blood fever, this water rightfully belongs to all of Vulcan."

Spock said, "Repeatedly we have told you. The Living Water helps only those who receive it in faith."

"Faith!" Rokar said with icy scorn. "Masters of kolinahr deal only in reality. I suspect that this 'Living Water' is either a figment of your imaginations or a drug by which you control your weak-minded disciples."

Spock looked upon the kolinahru with pity. "You profess to deal only with reality, yet you did not recognize the Highest Reality when he walked upon Vulcan soil. You are blind and deaf and barren because you have cut yourself off from Truth. How can you use logic to justify cold-blooded murder? First Yanash, and now a woman and child."

Unmoved, Rokar said, "Murder is an act of unlawful killing. The High Council of Elders found Yanash guilty of crimes and sentenced him to death. As for the others, no one has killed them. If they die, it is because two uncaring Yanashites abandoned a wife and a son to the elements."

Rokar and Dalek turned and walked away.

As the sound of their footsteps retreated, a thought suddenly occurred to Spock. "Regardless of what we do, they will kill us."

Sparn looked up at him, raised an eyebrow, and nodded. "They dare not release us because we could testify against them."

"Precisely," Spock said, and his heart beat faster at the thought of relinquishing his life for Yanash. There was not even a momentary fear, but only a strange welling of joy. _Oh, that he might be so privileged…_

oooo

It seemed to Simon that T'Prinka had been trudging through the desert for hours. Gradually her steps grew slower. With a groan she sank down in the blazing sand and held Simon protectively in her lap. Hardly perspiring now, he lay listlessly, moaning to himself while the pain in his head raged.

"Poor child," she murmured. "I once said I would walk barefoot through the Devil's Anvil, but it was not my intention to have anyone suffer with me."

A shadow slid over his makeshift hood. The heat of Eridani eased perceptively. In the distance there was rumbling that reminded him of the summer storms he had enjoyed on Earth.

A torrid gust of wind flipped the hood away from his face. Simon's eyes cracked open. A line of tremendous clouds towered in the red sky; their roiling peaks reached just high enough to block Eridani's rays. Lightening forked from the dark underbelly of the tallest cloud. Enticing streaks of rain trailed to the sand below.

Simon listened hopefully for the sound of thunder. Several seconds passed and the booming came, a bit stronger this time. Sighing, he said, "I'm so thirsty. Will it come this way?"

"If Yanash so wills," T'Prinka answered wearily. "Pray, Simon. The heat has kept the sandclaws deep, but when the desert's surface begins to cool, they will forage."

Simon looked at the unbroken miles of desert, and shuddered. Sparn had told him stories about people being dragged under the sand by barbed tentacles. He admired his uncle's courage—the way Sparn used to go out and single-handedly capture sandclaws with his retrieval equipment. He wished Sparn and his rig were here now. He wished his father was here, too. He was worried about both of them.

Simon tried to ignore the sandclaws and the terrible throbbing that filled his head. His mind drifted and he found himself talking to Yanash about what Christmas would like in San Francisco. Crisp ocean air, all the water he could drink, even water to bathe in. And the sweet pine scent of the tree Mom would decorate—his mother, who had tried to understand him even when he was lashing out at everyone around him, even when he was saying hateful things about his own father. _Let me see her again,_ he prayed, _give me a chance to show her how I've changed, and show Teresa and Jamie that I really do love them._

A sob tore at his chest, but no tears would come. Now his skin was completely dry, and his tongue felt too large for his mouth.

There was more thunder in the distance. It seemed to echo forever, a low rumble like orchestra drums, and a swirl of wind that sang like a note on his violin. Dust billowed in his face, making him cough.

And then, voices.

Cool fingers touched his cheek. As if in a dream, he felt himself being lifted. Weakly he opened his eyes and looked into the face of a blue-eyed, sandy-haired man. He felt no surprise that the man was human or that he was now lying on the back seat of a skimmer. He no longer felt much of anything.

T'Prinka climbed up front and doors closed. As the temperature inside the skimmer began to plummet, the man positioned himself between the front seats and quickly stripped Simon of everything but his briefs. He then picked up a bottle, poured chilled water over Simon's skin, and began soaking his hair.

Simon gasped, seized the bottle with trembling hands and gulped the last of its contents. The man reached into a compartment up front and produced another bottle, which he gave to T'Prinka.

"Here," he said in Vulcan's First Language, "drink half, then give the rest to the boy."

Simon watched him rummage in an equipment pouch and pull out a scanning device that reminded him of his mother's. The scanner hummed as the man passed it over Simon's body.

Simon spoke to him in Vulcan so T'Prinka would understand. "Are you a doctor?"

"Yes," the man said as he filled a sprayhypo. Adjusting the settings, he lowered it to Simon's arm. "This will help moderate your body temperature."

The hypo delivered its dose with a hiss that left Simon's arm stinging. He rubbed weakly at the spot until T'Prinka passed the water bottle. When he had gulped down his share, he found the doctor studying him and T'Prinka.

"Alright," the man said, "my name is Travis Van Allen. Now suppose you tell me who you are and…" he suddenly reverted to Standard "…what the bloody hell you were doing out here in the goddam middle of nowhere."

Simon's aunt spoke. "I am S'chn T'gai T'Prinka, wife of Sparn. The boy is S'chn T'gai Simon, the son of my nephew Spock."

Van Allen looked startled. _"Spock?_ The ambassador's son?"

"Yes," T'Prinka acknowledged.

The doctor turned and his eyes roamed over Simon's blistered face. "So you are Spock's boy! Yes, I can see that now, but there is a bit of your mother there, too." His face grew stern as he swept the scanner over Simon and checked the readings. His stilted Vulcan words did not seem to suit his nature. "It looks as if you will be alright. It is most fortunate that the storm made me change course or I would never have seen you. How did you get out here? Did you not realize the danger?"

T'Prinka explained, "We were abducted by kolinahrus and deliberately stranded here. Your finding us was not a matter of fortune, but of divine providence. Doctor, I thank you for your help. If you will be so kind as to deliver us to Mount Seleya, I will see that you are generously reimbursed for your time and your services."

"Seleya!" Van Allen gaped at them in astonishment. "But…" he broke off and began again. "Are you Yanashites?"

T'Prinka smiled in affirmation.

"Well then, yes…" he said, somewhat flustered. "It looks as if you really are."

At that, he slid behind the controls and they were on their way.

oooo

The priests of Yanash crowded around the infirmary bed where Simon lay while T'Prinka rested in a comfortable chair beside him. The story of their ordeal came as a complete shock, since everyone had assumed that Spock and his party were still at Baruk.

After having heard the details, Marek felt compelled to speak. Turning to Sorel, he said, "As we have not heard from Sparn or Spock, we must assume they also were captured. The words of Dekin seem to confirm this. If they are being held by the kolinahru at Gol, we must act at once." He glanced Simon's way. It was not his intention to frighten the boy, so he merely said, "The disciples of Rokar are not to be trusted."

Clearly understanding the gravity of the situation, Sorel asked, "What do you propose?"

"I propose immediately contacting Rokar to inform him that T'Prinka and Simon are here. Knowing that their treachery has been exposed should make them cautious. We should not even wait for the police, but go to Gol at once—as a group, in a show of solidarity and force." And with deep humility he added, "I am least among these priests, yet the kolinahru have been trained to view me as their ultimate authority. I understand the workings of their minds. It may be to our advantage if I assume the role of leader in their presence, but the decision rests with you, Sorel. I accept your word as from the mouth of Yanash."

"Very well," Sorel said. "While you call to Gol, I shall contact the police. Considering the authorities' attitude, help may be slow in coming, and it will take additional time for them to record T'Prinka and Simon's statements. You are right. We cannot wait."

A moment later Marek sat facing Rokar's image on a phone screen. The Master of Gol seemed as impervious at stone. Rather than lie, he responded to Marek's questioning with the cool silence for which Vulcans were famous.

Marek assumed a superior air. "You forget, Rokar, that I hold the lifelong right to demand even _your_ thoughts. No mental barrier can withstand the Grand Master of Kolinahr. I warn you, let no harm befall your guests. Keep them very well, for T'Prinka and Simon are about to file a criminal complaint. It would be most illogical for you to risk more serious charges." In conclusion he said, "I am coming to Gol to collect my companions. Have Sparn and Spock ready."

Ten priests transported. Led by Marek, they approached the Hall's main doors, dwarfed beneath the towering red legs of an ancient statue. A lone guardian in ceremonial robes stood watch at the entrance.

"Stand aside," Marek ordered.

The Vulcan inclined his shaved head respectfully and let them pass.

Beyond the doors, they entered a reception area. A kolinahru was quietly helping a visitor locate his deceased ancestor in a computer bank. The visitor would be directed to the appropriate vrekatra, where he would sit in silent veneration by the containment globe.

Before encountering Yanash, Marek had all but worshipped these depositories of Vulcan katras. He had valued emotional detachment even above logic, but now the disgust he was experiencing made him want to shout at these foolish people and awaken them to the Truth. Like all Yanashites, he was still learning how to experience positive emotion while keeping the negative at bay. This present situation called for perfect control.

Rokar and Delak arrived and graciously led them into an office furnished with Vulcan antiquities. When the door closed, Rokar inclined his head and said, "Priests of Yanash."

Marek met his cold, empty eyes. "I told you to have Sparn and Spock ready. Where are they?"

Rokar's expression remained bland. "I have not said they are here."

"You have not said they are _not_ here," Marek countered. "I have no time for your evasions." He extended his hand in the manner of a kolinahr Master to an underling. "Rokar, give me your thoughts."

Rokar's chin lifted; his dark gaze narrowed to defiant slits. "I will not kneel to you, Marek of Yanash. You have betrayed the principles of kolinahr; therefore I no longer recognize your authority."

"Then recognize God," Marek said. "Do you not know that He is The Source of all authority and power?"

With a sweep of his arm, Rokar indicated the great complex that ran deep into the mountain. "Knowledge is the only power, and herein lies the depository of all Vulcan knowledge. You left here a great man, yet now you pledge allegiance to the very renegade you once denounced. It is you, Marek, and your dead 'master', who has become as nothing. Now leave."

Marek reached beyond himself for the strength to contain his rising anger. It was not a matter of wounded pride, for he readily acknowledged that he was of little worth, but he could not bear to hear the Shiav abused.

Levelly he said, "You are corrupt, and for that you and your accomplice Dalek will be brought to your knees."

Rokar raised a languid brow. "You weary me with your threats. I fear neither you nor the police. If in fact I were keeping your two comrades, no one would ever find them in this sensor-resistant maze."

"You have them," Marek said with certainty. "I give you one last opportunity to bring Sparn and Spock here. And I advise you to act quickly."

Rokar folded his arms across his chest and gazed at him in placid rebellion.

Marek looked hard at Dalek until the former High Priest of Seleya averted his eyes.

"So be it," Marek said, and it was as if the horrific consequences of Rokar's disobedience had been whispered into his mind. He turned, and meeting Sorel's eyes, found a tacit understanding.

"So be it," Sorel repeated. Stepping forward, he stretched out his arms and said, "In the presence of my fellow priests, I call down God's judgment upon you and your kolinahru."

oooo

Spock was standing quite close to the force field, re-examining it for some weakness that he might exploit, when the energy flow surged. The lights overhead and in the passageway flared with sudden blinding intensity.

In the next instant there was total darkness.

"Power failure!" Sparn's voice exclaimed. "I wonder if the whole complex is down."

"Most unlikely," Spock said. In his years as a kolinahr initiate, he had become acquainted with the Hall's dilithium power source and its complex backup systems. Thousands upon thousands of ancient katras depended upon the force fields servicing their globes. A moment of electrical interruption would destroy centuries of accumulated knowledge.

Yet for the first time since his arrival, Spock felt free of mental oppression. He turned his thoughts toward escape.

"Come this way," he told Sparn. "Take my hand and we will step into the passage while the field is down."

Sparn reached him. Using his free hand, Spock began groping his way along the stone wall of the passage. The area was not familiar to him. After only a few steps, his hand suddenly extended out into empty air. _A side tunnel? A chamber?_ He hesitated, unsure of how to proceed. Like Seleya, there were miles of shafts cut into this mountain. They could wander in the dark for days and never find their way out.

Sparn began to talk. "Spock…I must ask pardon for the way I spoke to you about your son. You were right to rebuke me. My faith was weak."

Unseen, Spock gave a knowing nod. "That is a state with which I have had some personal experience, my uncle. Tell me, have you noticed that the air seems to be growing cooler…and a bit stale? The climate controls must also be inoperative."

"I smell something burning," Sparn said.

Now Spock also detected a charred odor, though very faint. "It seems to be coming through this opening."

His every instinct warned him to move away from the danger of smoke and continue along the original passage. Reaching out with his right hand, he edged along, feeling for a far rim. He had not yet found it when a light appeared directly in front of him, revealing a chamber.

A lone Vulcan wearing a white robe walked toward him, torch in hand.

Sparn crowded closer and peered at the approaching figure. "It's him!" he exclaimed.

"Yes." Spock barely managed a whisper. _The Vulcan of his dream, the mysterious advisor, the messenger of Yanash._

The Vulcan reached them and simply said, "Come with me."

Spock and Sparn obeyed without question. The Vulcan led them through an intersecting maze of passageways until they arrived at last in the great Hall of Ancient Thought.

Stunned, Spock stopped in his tracks and looked upon the grim scene before them. Vrekatras that had once glowed like moons, now lay charred and shrunken in their niches. Wisps of smoke drifted in the air, stirred here and there by kolinahru who rushed about holding flashlights.

"Come," the torchbearer said firmly.

As they worked their way through the devastation, Spock found himself pitying these Hall guardians whose entire lives had been centered upon these ruined globes. What would become of them now? He thought of his beloved grandfather's vrekatra and could not help but regret its loss.

The Vulcan guide brought them to an exit door and said, "Children of Yanash, do not be saddened by these fallen idols. You serve a greater God. Go now, into the light. Your son and your wife are well and await you on Mount Seleya."

Greatly relieved by the news, Spock opened the door and Sparn followed him into a large room awash with portable lights. Police were in the process of arresting Rokar and Dalek while ten priests from Mount Seleya looked on. Dalek was loudly accusing the Yanashites of sabotage, but Rokar appeared to be in shock.

Sorel caught sight of Spock standing in the shadows with Sparn. Openly smiling, Sorel rushed over and was immediately followed by the others. As they embraced one another, a police officer was heard to remark, "Those Yanashites not only speak of love…they are unafraid to show it."

"Yes…and how distasteful," spoke his female comrade, her lip curling in disdain.

With a hand to Spock's back, Marek urged Spock toward the main doors and said, "Come and see what else has happened."

Spock stepped outside. The great lava god had fallen. The statue lay on the ground, broken into huge, red pieces.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

As their journey neared its end, Spock sat beside his son in the starliner's observation lounge. It was good to leave the trouble at Gol behind him for a time. Rokar and Dalek remained under arrest. The police investigation had turned up no sign of Yanashite sabotage, but had led to additional indictments against Nath and Dekin, as well four other kolinahru involved in the Baruk abduction. So it seemed there would be some justice for Yanashites, after all.

The closer Spock came to Earth, the more he found himself yearning for his wife and family. Lauren was certainly right in one regard; he had been away much too long.

The starliner approached the Solar System and dropped out of warp. Planets glided past the steelglass windows. When Earth came into view, Simon grinned, teeth white and straight against his deeply tanned skin. Spock was glad the "sunburn" had healed without leaving any mark. Lauren's initial sight of her son would give her no cause for worry.

"Let's go," Simon said with an eagerness that was infectious.

They picked up their luggage and were among the first to board the shuttles. The sun was setting as they disembarked at San Francisco Spaceport. Walking into the concourse, Spock caught sight of his family waiting. The twins saw him and rushed over with Lauren on their heels. James and Teresa latched onto him with a force that nearly knocked him off-balance. Lauren spread her arms wide and included Spock and Simon in one giant embrace.

Smiling broadly, she drew back, her attention dancing from one to the other as she said, "You both look great!"

Spock put his hand to her face and looked into her eyes. Her smile wavered as even her surface thoughts closed to him. Troubled, he let his hand drop.

Lauren drove the groundcar home, for the twins were clamoring for his attention. James, who had finally grown as tall as his sister, glowed with perfect health. Teresa chattered without ceasing, and before long they settled onto the driveway.

The house shone with countless blue lights strung around the eaves and windows.

"Christmas lights!" Simon exclaimed. "We've never had those before."

Lauren shut down the motor and turned to Spock with a hopeful expression. "Do you like them?"

"Everything is fine," he assured her. "You have done very well in my absence."

She smiled nervously and averted her eyes in a way that brought back the disquieting words of her subspace message. _There are things that I haven't told you, either. For the sake of our marriage, we have to get this straightened out._

It was hours before the twins were asleep. Then Simon went off to his bedroom with another embrace from his mother.

Lauren's gaze followed their eldest son as he left the living room and walked upstairs. Softly she said, "I can't get over the change in that boy. He's gotten so much more mature." She looked over to the sofa where Spock was seated. "You've done a wonderful job with him."

"It is Yanash who changed him," Spock said.

A shadow crossed her face. All evening they had not spoken about anything of real importance. Now that they were finally alone, she seemed more remote than ever.

"Come in the lab," she said abruptly. "You won't believe some of the progress I've made in that new project of mine."

Spock rose and followed her down the hall, into her laboratory, controlling his impatience while she sat before her biocomp and brought him up to date. It seemed there would be no end to her nervous talking.

At last he turned and closed the door. Gently confronting her, he said, "Enough about research."

She fell silent and her eyes widened with apprehension.

Spock moved nearer, as if mere physical proximity might close the emotional distance between them. And he said, "Lauren, I will not be put off any longer. What is the trouble?"

Tears welled in her eyes; she shook her head. "You're so different."

The words cut a swath of fear in Spock's heart. She had loved him the way he was—empty like so many others, searching for something to fill and satisfy him. Now that he had found the answer, he seemed strange to her. What would become of their marriage?

Cautiously he said, "Am I so very different? In time you will grow accustomed to the change in me."

Keeping to her seat, Lauren let out a deep sigh. "How, when we're not even living together? What kind of life is this?"

"It is the life to which Yanash has called me."

 _"_ _Yanash!"_ she cried. "I'm getting sick of the very name!" Her face crumpled. Hiding behind a hand, she struggled for control.

Spock held his tongue rather than say how offensive he found her attitude. One wrong remark from him and they would be quarreling.

At last she lowered her hand. Staring at the floor, she spoke in a thick, halting voice. "I'm sorry. I had no right to say that—not after what he did for Jamie. But I'm so _scared._ Scared of what all this will mean for us. You've changed…and I've changed, too."

Spock struggled for words of his own. "It…pains me that you have grown so distant. In your messages you mentioned… _'things'_ that you have not told me. Well, I am here now. I am listening."

Lauren sat in silence for a long moment. Another sigh escaped her. "You won't like it."

"Lauren," he urged.

Her eyes rose and met his, full of unspoken anguish. "So much has happened. You can't possibly understand."

"I will try," he promised.

Once more her gaze dropped. Softly she said, "It all began with Tony…"

At the masculine sounding name, Spock's thin thread of hope snapped. In his absence, had she found another? There was fresh anger…and bitter loss.

"Tony…" The name rasped in his throat.

"Jim's wife," Lauren clarified, to Spock's considerable relief.

Emotional involvement had made him forego logic and jump to an unsavory conclusion. _Not Tony then, but_ _Toni_ _—_ Antonia Cordova Kirk, who had become fast friends with his wife and even painted the lovely portrait of Lauren that hung on the living room wall.

But Lauren was still far from calm as she said, "You know I had some Catholic training when I was a child…but it didn't amount to much. I've always been kind of surprised that my brother Larry turned out so religious. I've told you that I believe in God…but it wasn't a very active faith."

Spock asked, "What has all this to do with Antonia?"

"I'm getting around to that." But then she paused yet again before saying, "Remember how surprised you were when I went along with your plan for taking James to Vulcan? Well, I'd been praying hard all night. I would have tried anything to save him…and when Yanash touched Jamie and brought him back to life…well, something happened inside me, too."

Spock held himself very still.

Wiping a tear from her face, Lauren continued. "Yanash said not to tell anyone, but when I came back to Earth I confided in Toni. She began talking to me about her Catholic beliefs, and introduced me to a wonderful old priest. The more time I spent with them, the more I admired their kind of faith…and before long, I began to share it. For the first time in my life, Jesus Christ became real to me. I wasn't just talking _about_ him, I was learning to talk _with_ him. I finally got up the courage to go to church, and it felt as if I was coming home."

"Coming home to the Truth?" Spock questioned.

Looking desolate, she bit her lip. "I'm glad you believe in God now. But you're a Yanashite, with strong beliefs of your own…so you're going to tell me there's only one truth."

"Yes," he replied, "and not only as a Yanashite, but as a scientist."

Tears welled again. "Of course. I knew it. Well, here goes. Like it or not, I'm Catholic now. The twins and I have been attending Mass over at St. Bridget's, and they're also enrolled in religious classes. I need your cooperation to get them baptized…and unless our marriage is validated, I won't be able to receive Communion." Her eyes sparked with anger. "You think I'm wrong, but if you really love me, you won't stand in my way."

For a moment Spock just stood there, reviewing each and every nuance of her revelation. _So this was her carefully guarded secret?_ Stepping closer, he drew her from her seat. With his hands on her arms, he searched her defiant face and said, "Lauren…aisha…you speak as if we are in opposition to one another—as if even the Gods we reverence are somehow in conflict, when in fact they are one in the same."

Her brows puckered in a frown. "One and the same? How, Spock?"

"If there is but one Truth, it must by definition be universal. Do you not agree?"

Lauren's frown deepened. "Of course I agree. The word 'Catholic' _means_ 'universal'. But what are you telling me? You don't care if the children become Catholics instead of Yanashites? You don't mind consulting a Catholic priest about our marriage?"

Spock felt his mouth curve into a smile, and did nothing to prevent it. "Once, when Simon was much younger, he came to me asking about the Christian Savior. I would not speak to him of such 'mythical' matters, but told him to consult you. Well, on the voyage here, Simon repeated the question. This time I tested his Latin and told him ' _Jesu Christi Domine Deus'."_

She was clearly shocked. "You…told him _that?"_

He explained, "I am not entirely alone in that opinion. Would not a loving Creator send His Son to any one of His worlds in need of redemption? And there are indeed many with evidence of a savior's visit." Taking her by the hand, he said, "Now come with _me_. There is something I want to show you."

Upstairs in their bedroom, he opened his valise, drew out a folded document from an inner compartment, and handed it to her. Lauren carefully opened the high-grade paper. As she read its flowery script, her eyes widened with astonishment.

She said, "You have an audience with the pope?"

"I am not specifically named," he pointed out. "As you can see, the invitation is for a 'duly authorized representative of Vulcan's Yanashite Community'. Since I was coming to Earth, since I am half human and have experience as an envoy, Sorel chose me. I have an appointment at the Vatican after the first of the year."

Lauren glanced up from the document in amazement. Taking the paper from her hands, Spock set it aside. Then he touched her cheek and gently wiped a lingering tear as he said, "I was educated in the sciences, and your training is in the medical field. It is in our natures to want—to _demand_ —an answer for every question. But one cannot demand answers from God. In time, everything will come clear. For now all we can do is trust in Him and in one another."

Lauren looked at him with an expression approaching wonder. Her trembling fingers rose up and as they enclosed his hand, he could sense a longing that matched his own. Spock drew her into a kiss and she received him with her heart open wide.

oooo

Early Christmas morning, Lauren sat with her family in a pew at St. Bridget Church. She had not expected Spock to accompany her; she had made it clear to him that she would understand if he and Simon chose to stay home. Yet when Mass began, both of them were present. For Spock, it was perhaps a matter of study, and Simon did not want to be left out.

As the scriptures for the day were read, she was reminded of the stories about Yanash and ancient prophetic writings that Spock had been showing her. She thought of the solemn Kuru rite of Living Water that Spock spoke of with such reverence, and as she took his hand into hers, Lauren's love for him deepened until it seemed that her heart would burst.

Glancing up, she met his caring eyes and wished that he did not have to go back to Vulcan. Their time together was so short, but he had assured her that "it would not always be so". She was grateful for the new spiritual understanding that bound them more tightly than ever. Returning her look, Spock raised an eyebrow and smiled slightly, with warmth, as if he were reading her thoughts and appreciated them.

After Mass, the pastor sought out Spock and greeted him. They had already met with Father Thompson during the previous week to discuss the twins' baptism and make the necessary appeal regarding their marriage. And of course, they had talked about Yanash.

News traveled fast among the parishioners and curiosity was rampant. The sight of a Vulcan among them drew a crowd, all intent on being introduced and hearing about what was happening on Spock's planet.

Then, without warning, a discordant note struck. Shaking Spock's hand, a jovial-looking man jested, "So I hear that you're Judas. Any truth to that?"

Spock froze and Lauren could only stand by, wondering how he would react to such an outrageous, distasteful remark. Coming to himself, Spock withdrew his hand and quietly said, "If by that you mean, did I betray the Shiav? The answer is yes."

Lauren stared at him with such shock that she scarcely noticed how the parishioners responded to the news.

He continued, "My misguided concern for Vulcan's welfare led me to act in reprehensible ways, but the Shiav is merciful."

The crowd slowly broke up and drifted out of the church. Lauren was thankful that the children had been off talking with friends. Gathering them, she headed out to their groundcar with Spock. There she told Simon and the twins to get inside and wait.

A light drizzle was falling as she faced Spock in his overcoat and said, _"Judas!_ You? I can't believe that for one second."

"Then try it for two seconds," he grimly retorted. "I should have told you before now. On Vulcan I was in frequent contact with my father, offering information and advice that led to Yanash's arrest. Of course I did not realize he would be killed, but that hardly excuses me."

Lauren struggled to assimilate this new information. Spock and Sarek working together against the Vulcan Savior! "And when Yanash rose?"

"He forgave me. Even more, he _overwhelmed_ me with a depth of loving acceptance beyond all comprehension." And he added, "Simon knows. It is common knowledge among the Yanashites, though they do not often speak of it."

Sighing, Lauren said, "Well you can bet that tongues will be wagging here in San Francisco. Merry Christmas. Let's go home."

oooo

Teresa and James hurriedly took every gift from under the Christmas tree and distributed them, but before the grand opening could begin, Teresa called for a halt.

"Wait, Daddy!" she said, her brown eyes dancing with excitement. "We can't open anything till you get your _special_ present."

Lauren gave Spock a blank look and shrugged.

"Come on, Jamie," Teresa beckoned, "let's go!" Giggling, she ran upstairs with her brother.

"I can't imagine," Lauren admitted to Spock and Simon with some trepidation. The trouble was, Teresa had such an active imagination that almost anything was possible. She was about to follow them upstairs when the twins came running down, empty-handed. Grinning mischievously, they stood on each side of their father's chair and urged him to his feet.

Looking distinctly uncomfortable, Spock complied.

There was a sound on the stairs, but Lauren's eyes were on her husband. She saw him glance toward the sound, saw his face register both shock and pleasure. Then she turned and looked for herself.

A young, dark-haired woman was descending the stairs with a golden child in her arms.

"T'Beth!" hollered Simon.

At the base of the staircase, T'Beth set Bethany on her own small feet and walked over to her father. For a moment they just looked at one another. Then without saying a word, Spock held out his arms to her and they embraced. T'Beth murmured something, kissed his face, and backed away with tears in her eyes.

She hugged Simon, then came over to Lauren.

"Sorry I didn't warn you," T'Beth said apologetically. "Teresa and I cooked this up. If I'd let you in on it, Father would have found out."

"I'm glad you could make it," Lauren assured her, and then they, too, were embracing.

Eventually the Christmas presents were opened and the torn wrappings cleared out of the living room. All his life Jamie had hungered for his big brother's attention, and now was overjoyed when Simon showed an interest in his new toys. Lauren watched Teresa dote on little Bethany and found it difficult to think of herself as a step-grandmother. It was easier to accept Spock in that role, for though he looked only fortyish, he was old enough to be a _great-_ grandfather. He had always shown such patience with the children when they were small, and now he was accepting Bethany as if she were his own.

The aroma of roasting turkey began to permeate the house, and with it came thoughts of the dinner guests who would soon be arriving. Lauren hoped and prayed that it would not be too awkward having T'Beth and the Kirks at the same table. She was not sure how much Antonia knew about Jim's relationship with Spock's eldest daughter. She had warned T'Beth that Jim and his wife were coming, had seen pain briefly flicker in her hazel eyes before T'Beth recovered and said lightly, "That's great. How are they doing?"

The doorbell chimed.

Dropping his toys, Jamie sped to the door, flung it open, and greeted the former starship captain whose name he bore. "Uncle Jim! Aunt Toni! Merry Christmas!"

Jim mussed the boy's hair and delighted him by saying, "Who's this great big Vulcan fellow? Why, you're getting almost as tall as your dad…and twice as handsome."

Turning, Jamie pointed across the room. "I'm an uncle, too. See? T'Beth is here and her little girl is my niece."

Jim and T'Beth locked eyes.

Lauren quickly made the introductions, and Antonia opened a little sack of presents for the children.

In a somewhat distant but polite manner, Jim took notice of T'Beth's daughter. "So this is Bethany," he said to no one in particular.

T'Beth responded with equal restraint. "Yes. She's three. Congratulations on your marriage. I hear that you're raising horses in Idaho."

"Appaloosas," Jim said and left it at that.

Then, to Lauren's relief, the conversation turned toward Spock. Everywhere and with everyone it was the same. _Spock, tell us about Yanash._ But Lauren no longer wondered how he managed to remain free of conceit with so many people hanging on his every word. Now she knew the painful source of that humility—but unlike Judas, Spock had risen from his despair and received the forgiveness that God offered to every sincere penitent.

Lauren went into the kitchen and before long T'Beth joined her. They were peeling potatoes when Antonia came in.

Jim's wife walked over to T'Beth and said, "It really is so nice to meet you. Jim's told me how you tried to help him when he was drinking. He probably wouldn't have made it, if it wasn't for you and your family."

T'Beth's eyes brimmed with tears. "I didn't know if he even remembered…"

"He remembers," Antonia assured her.

The tension eased perceptively, and there was a friendly atmosphere at the table when they sat down to an early dinner.

Jim looked over the traditional Christmas dishes and gently teased Spock. "What? No Vulcan cuisine?"

"I have had my fill of Vulcan food for months," Spock replied. "Lauren's cooking is a most pleasant change."

Looking amused, Jim offered Spock a platter of sliced meat. "Here then, have some of Lauren's 'most pleasant' turkey."

Antonia nudged her husband in the ribs, eliciting giggles from the twins as Jim contritely set the platter down.

Spock merely raised an eyebrow. "Actually, it is permissible for a follower of Yanash to consume meat. The Shiav himself partook of it when he was among the Golheni, but I cannot bring myself to do so." He added, "I have, however, grown more tolerant of the odor."

"And he eats eggs," Simon said with a smile. " _Unfertilized_ eggs."

"What's that mean?" asked Teresa.

Lauren answered, "It means eggs laid by lonely chickens."

Even Spock smiled at that one.

After dinner the twins went off to play, and they took little Bethany with them. The others were lingering at the table when Jim turned once more to Spock and said, "I was sorry to hear about your mother. How's Sarek doing? I thought he might be here today, since he's in town."

"I was not aware of that," Spock admitted. "Although I have been living on Vulcan, I haven't spoken to my father since the day Yanash died."

"Oh," Jim said. "Then I gather he's not too pleased about your involvement with the sect."

Lauren met her husband's eyes. Earlier, in a private moment, he had stressed that no one must ever know about Sarek's part in the Shiav's arrest. Even in Spock's ongoing manuscript, his "contact" remained a nebulous figure.

Now as the silence stretched, he looked aside. Toying with his glass of non-alcoholic wine, he said, "The name of Yanash evokes a quite…vigorous response…among certain segments of Vulcan society. Neither the traditionalists nor the government support our Community. And as you well know, Sarek's life is deeply entrenched in both governmental affairs and traditions."

T'Beth snorted. "A 'vigorous response'? From traditional Vulcans?"

Spock took a sip of his Zinfandel and reminded her, "It was traditional Vulcans who murdered Yanash."

oooo

The day after Christmas, all government offices were closed for a long weekend. After lunch Spock donned a warm, hooded rain cloak and made his way through a fine mist to the Vulcan Embassy. The long, cold walk gave him ample time to think about his responsibility as a son. Yanash had warned that those who followed him might be ostracized by members of their own families, but his doctrine of love seemed to demand at least some effort at reconciliation.

Perhaps here, far from the pressures and prejudices of Vulcan—here where Sarek had first fallen under the charm of a human named Amanda—he would open his mind and his heart to the son they had conceived together.

Spock came to the door of the embassy and was admitted. Drawing back his hood, he waited uneasily as the doorkeeper informed Sarek by intercom that his son wished to see him.

There was a telling pause.

At last Sarek's deep voice filtered through the speaker. "I will receive the visitor in the secondary conference room."

Spock knew the way well. He had occasionally lived in the embassy as a boy. After his re-education on Vulcan, he had stayed here with his father before returning to Starfleet. In this same building he had taken Lauren to be his wife, and Sarek had danced a waltz at their wedding reception.

He entered the richly paneled room, turned on a lamp, and stood waiting. It seemed a hopeful sign that his father had consented to meet him. At least Sarek had not yet fully retreated into his usual bitter, unyielding silence. Perhaps he had come to realize that nothing was ever solved in that way.

Spock heard heavy footsteps in the hall. The turning of the antique doorknob sent him fleeing back in time to that insecure halfling boy, desperate to please his eminent father. He scarcely recognized the Vulcan who entered the room.

Sarek's steel-gray hair had gone mostly white. His cheeks were hollow, his frame shrunken and frail-looking beneath the robes of his office. Only his eyes were unchanged; they struck at Spock like a pair of dark, penetrating daggers.

It took a moment for Spock to find his voice. "Father," he said, and the wrenching thought followed, _Have I done this to you?_

Sarek coolly scrutinized him. "So…you have come back to Earth. Have you also come back to your senses?"

The boy in Spock shrank before his father's question. With all his heart he longed to tell him, _Yes, have come back to my senses. I will not grieve you any longer. I will do whatever you ask, if only you will accept me as your son. If only you will_ _love_ _me._

Sarek grew impatient with waiting and said, "Do you intend to answer?"

The harshly spoken words yanked Spock free from the temptation. Sarek was blind to his emotional needs; he would only have found them weak and disgusting. The love and acceptance Spock had always sought from his father could only come from a higher Source. Had not Yanash said to him, _"My son"?_

Sending the Eater of Souls fleeing, Spock affirmed, "I am pledged to serve Yanash."

"A _dead_ _criminal?"_ Sarek exclaimed. "You went among the Yanashites as an agent of sanity. You advocated the renegade's arrest. What has become of your logic? Turn away from this Yanashite madness!"

The verbal attack struck Spock with all the force of a blow. Struggling for composure, he said, "Father, you do not realize what you are asking. If you knew the Shiav as I do…"

"The _Shiav,"_ Sarek countered with disdain. "You sound like—" he barely stopped short of speaking the forbidden name—"like your deluded half-brother. What have you and your fellow Yanashites done? At the Hall of Ancient Thought, our treasury of katras was lost forever. You were there."

"Yes, and we submitted ourselves to verifier scans. Surely you must know that the Yanashites have been vindicated of any wrongdoing. The collapse of the power grid cannot be explained by anything but an act of God."

"An act of God! I give no credence to such things, "Sarek declared. "You are a scientist. There is cause and there is effect. With your background, you are quite capable of masterminding an act of sabotage that would be all but undetectable."

Spock could not deny that he possessed such a capability. "Nevertheless," he insisted, "I did not, and duly testified to that fact."

Sarek glared at him. "Perhaps you now fancy yourself as another Surak. Scientist and reformer."

"No," Spock said, weary of the conflict. Any further remarks would only fuel the argument. There was but one way Sarek might be made to understand, and as daunting as it seemed, he had to make the attempt. "Father, if I could share what I have experienced among the Yanashites these past months, you would see us differently." He tried in vain to swallow the dryness from his mouth. "Although I have never made such a request of you, it is permitted by Vulcan custom. I am asking you to meld with me."

Sarek reacted as if the invitation were an insult. His dark eyes flashed as he pronounced each word forcefully. _"I…will…not!_ I will _not_ enter into your twisted, illogical mind!"

Spock stood mute before his father's rejection, his last hope for reconciliation crushed. He might have sought escape if Sarek were not blocking the only exit.

"At least think of your mother," Sarek continued, "and the shame you are bringing to her memory on Vulcan. There have always been those who blamed her when you behaved inappropriately. _Plak-waru._ It is the same in both worlds. _Bad blood."_

Spock cleared his throat, but no words came. _Was he really hurting his mother?_ Before the end she had encouraged him to begin a spiritual journey, and since her death she had journeyed far ahead. But someday, when he also passed through that portal, they would surely meet again.

Disgusted by his silence, Sarek pronounced, "You should have died with your brother."

The ambassador turned on his heel and left the room.

Alone, Spock closed his eyes, shut them tight, forcing away the stinging pressure that was gathering behind them. He needed to leave this place. He needed to walk out calmly, in complete control of himself. But it was not so easy to submerge his emotions as it had once been, when the discipline of Vulcan was his only creed.

His thoughts went to Yanash, and he was thankful that he had not denied his faith in the Shiav. In the midst of his anguish he remembered how Yanash had also been rejected; how he had willingly lain down and offered himself upon the ledge. As Spock united his suffering with that of the Shiav, his pain took on new meaning and became manageable.

He opened his eyes, set his jaw. And drawing up his hood, he walked out of the Vulcan embassy into the damp winter day.

oooo

Lauren was amazed at how at how word of Spock's arrival spread. Their time together as a family had become very limited; she longed for privacy, but each day brought a steady influx of visitors to the house on the hill. There were relatives such as Lauren's mother who came in from New York for an evening. There was Doctor McCoy, now semi-retired from Starfleet, and Aaron Pascal, who had unexpectedly taken a shy interest in T'Beth and returned almost every day to see her. There was Leo Kessler, Spock's friend from prison, who had won his release and taken a job at a desalinization plant in Long Beach.

All of these were to be expected, particularly since they knew that Spock would not be on Earth very long. It was the others who began to try Lauren's patience—the ever-increasing number of journalists, media representatives, and curiosity seekers who found their way to the front door, and even sometimes the _back_ door. The polite ones were not too objectionable, but the people who angrily demanded an interview with "the Yashanite"—an all-too-common mispronunciation—found the door firmly shut in their faces. There were crackpots who shrilly denounced Spock for everything from "scientific heresy" and "cultural perversion", to a "male clergy sexist". And worst of all were those who branded him a "Judas". Spock had never acted out of avarice, but from a concern for Vulcan's welfare.

Lauren had just banished one such lady from her porch when the doorbell chimed yet again. Annoyed, she flung the door open.

A slender, balding tower of a man grinned at her. His gray eyes twinkled with mischief and he caught her in a hug that lifted her right off her feet.

"Larry!" she gasped.

"Hi, Sis." His moustache tickled as he gave her a peck on the cheek. Then he set her down. "I'm staying out at the beach house. I tried to call, but couldn't seem to get through. What happened to your phones?"

"We had to turn them off…" she began to explain.

"Money that tight?" he quipped. Drawing her completely onto the porch, he pulled the door closed so that no one in the house could overhear them. Suddenly serious, he said, "I know Spock's back from Vulcan. That's why I came. I need to talk to him."

Lauren's heart seized. It pained her that Larry had never had any use for her husband. He had avoided Spock ever since their wedding reception, when the two men nearly came to blows. Larry was a Salesian priest and seldom left his mission field on Gamma Vertas IV; until now he had carefully timed his visits for those occasions when Spock was away from Earth.

"Don't look so worried," he said. "I didn't come all this way just to pick a fight." He slashed an invisible X over the front of his sweater. "Cross my heart."

Lauren studied his face. "Okay then," she said with trepidation, "but mind your temper. He's already had enough trouble from his own relatives."

She opened the door and they went inside. For once, the house was quiet. T'Beth and Aaron had taken all the children up to the snow. Spock was upstairs going over the material he would need at the Vatican tomorrow.

"Wait here in the living room," she said, and turned to the staircase only to discover that Spock was just starting down.

She met him at the base of the stairs and looked a warning into his eyes. "My brother Larry is here. He wants to talk to you."

Spock raised an eyebrow and waited to see if she would add anything, but all she could do was shrug. Lauren followed him into the living room and stood watching at a discreet distance. These were the two most important men in her life. She intended to make sure they didn't kill each other.

Larry turned from the Christmas tree and gave Spock an odd, searching look. "Captain. It's been a long while."

"Indeed," Spock said. "But you need not call me Captain, for I am retired from Starfleet."

Larry nodded. "So Laurie told me. She's kept me pretty well-informed over the years…" He stopped to rub the back of his neck in a self-conscious gesture carried over from childhood. "It must seem pretty strange to you, my showing up all of a sudden…after the way I've always shut you out."

Very courteously Spock said, "I know that you have always acted out of concern for your sister's wellbeing."

Larry sighed. "Yes, that's how I saw it at the time. But lately…" His voice trailed off.

"Please," Spock said, "sit down."

Lauren stayed in a corner of the room while the men took chairs at a comfortable distance from one another. She could only hope that, for once, the doorbell would remain silent.

Larry leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. "I hear you were on Vulcan before Yanash was executed. Laurie says that he cured your son Jamie, and after that you stayed on with him. That you saw Yanash die and you saw him come back from the dead. She says there's a church forming with a priesthood and sacraments."

"All correct," Spock said, "only in the case of James, our son actually died. Yanash touched the boy and restored him to life…but I did not commit myself to the Shiav until after _he_ had died and come back."

Looking suitably amazed, Larry glanced over at Lauren. "Jamie was _dead?"_

At her affirming nod, he turned his attention back to Spock. "And Yanash—you're absolutely certain that _he_ died? There was no possibility of mistaken identity, or a hoax?"

Though it was a common question, Spock patiently described the cruel ordeal he had witnessed with his own eyes. "…and so as you see," he concluded, "at the point of death his body was in a state of complete mutilation. By morning—although I did not stay to see it—there would have been only skeletal remains. T'Lar's healer was present and she attested to that fact. It was she who first saw the Shiav when he rose from the tomb. Although she participated in his execution, she is now a devoted believer. And you may as well know there is more."

Lauren held her breath as Spock unflinchingly described his own role in the Shiav's arrest.

Larry sat up very straight, just listening until it was over. "Oh my God," he said. "How difficult that must be for you." Then, like so many others before him, he asked, "Can you tell me about your Yanash? What he was like, what he taught. I hear that he's turned Vulcan upside-down."

Lauren knew it was safe now. Humming happily to herself, she went into her laboratory and set to work on some research. Later, when she came out, the two men were on their feet. Larry was shaking Spock's hand like a brother.

oooo

The hour was late, and Spock had taken his Vulcan lamp into his study and lit the attunement flame. While his family slept, he sat down on a meditation stool. With eyes closed and palms open to the heavens, he surrendered that interior region of which Love alone was now master. In traditional Vulcan meditation, he had been taught to exclude his animal senses from his consciousness, free his mind of emotion, and systematically remove every thought as he gave himself over to the universe. As a Yanashite, he did not exclude any aspect of his being—physical or spiritual, human or Vulcan. He no longer surrendered himself to the universe, but to its Creator. His experience of God was immediate, personal, and deeply humbling.

The only true meditation was a meeting with Yanash, and now more than ever, Spock needed the Shiav's guidance. Vatican City awaited him. The hour had come and he felt inadequate for the task that lay ahead; by comparison, all his years representing Starfleet and the Federation seemed as nothing. He and he alone would travel to the seat of Christianity and speak on behalf of the Shiav.

Hoping for some last minute reprieve, he asked, _Must it be me?_

A thought formed in his mind, and perhaps it was only a distraction. Earlier today, in her brother's presence, Lauren had spoken of the memorial service after Spock's death aboard the Enterprise. Due to her injuries, she had been unable to attend, but lay listening in sickbay as it was piped over the intercom. For the very first time she described it; Kirk's touching words and Scott's rendition of "Amazing Grace" on his bagpipes. _Bagpipes._ How strange it was for Spock to visualize his own funeral, with Kirk lauding his "human soul" and a Christian hymn playing for a confirmed Vulcan atheist. _I once was lost…but now am found…was blind…but now I see._ His mother would approve of the verses. So very poetic, and so true.

 _This, then, was his answer._ He _had_ been found. He _had_ been given new insight. And now, like Sparn before him, he was expected to share it.

Shortly after midnight he rose, donned a cloak over his Vulcan styled suit, and took up his briefcase. As he came downstairs, his eyes focused on the painting that faced the steps. Over the years, Chagall's "Expulsion from Paradise" had taken on many different meanings for him. Since returning from Vulcan he saw for the first time the desolating effects of Adam and Eve's sin. Yet the picture was incomplete. They had not, after all, been abandoned to the outer darkness. God Himself had gone out searching for his lost children in order to gather them back to Himself.

Spock continued into the living room and found his brother-in-law dressed in a black clerical suit, roman collar, and overcoat.

Reverend Fielding rose up and asked, "Ready?"

"Yes, Larry," Spock replied. Earlier in the evening he had contacted the Vatican and asked if a Salesian priest might accompany him. He was glad that the response was positive. In the span of a few hours, Lauren's brother had turned from an adversary into a supportive friend.

Spock phoned for transport, and they were beamed through an orbital relay station to the heart of Rome. Getting their bearings, they stepped off the sheltered tourist pads into a cool morning at St. Peter's Square. Pigeons startled into flight, then quickly settled nearby and strutted over the pavement.

Spock looked up at the exquisite dome of St. Peter's Basilica that dominated the skyline. He had toured Vatican City once before, as a cadet on break from Starfleet Academy. He had studied the architecture of its great buildings and visited the art galleries with their paintings and statuary. He had gazed upon the magnificent frescos by Michelangelo in the Sistine Chapel. He had done all that, and more, while entirely missing the point of so much grandeur. Blind to living faith, he had looked upon all of this as nothing more than an interesting collection of Earth relics.

"Ready?" Larry asked again. He was clearly anxious to be moving.

Spock nodded. Now that they had arrived, he felt a great sense of serenity. Together with his brother-in-law, he set out toward the long, uneven structures of the Vatican palace. There, a congenial priest ushered them into a reception room adorned with frescos by Raphael.

"His Holiness will be with you in a moment," the priest said, and after briefly explaining matters of protocol, chatted pleasantly as he waited with them.

After glancing at the door through which the pope would enter, Spock asked, "How much time will we be permitted?"

"As much time as His Holiness deems appropriate," the priest replied noncommittally, "but I do believe he has cleared his schedule for the entire morning."

Spock was surprised. The most he had hoped for was an hour, perhaps two.

The door swung open. Dressed in white robes and skullcap, Pope Augustine entered, accompanied by a purple and red entourage of Church hierarchy. The pope's attention immediately focused on Spock. With a vigorous gait the stocky, gray-haired American approached his Vulcan guest and smiled warmly. He did not wait for Spock's name to be announced.

"S'chn T'gai Spock," he said as well as any human had ever pronounced it.

"Spock gave a dignified Vulcan head-bow, then raised his right hand, fingers splayed in salute. "Peace be with you, Your Holiness. I come before you as the Shiav's servant."

"Welcome, welcome," the pope responded. He turned his attention to Spock's companion.

The priest who had escorted Spock and Larry said, "Your Holiness, this is Father Laurence Fielding, a Salesian missionary who has worked to heal the wounds inflicted by Donari raiders on the people of Gamma Vertas IV." He added, "Spock is married to his sister."

When Pope Augustine greeted Larry, the priest dropped to one knee and kissed the pontiff's ring in a show of respect for his office. After the bishops and cardinals were introduced, everyone settled into the chairs that were appointed to them. Spock found himself positioned directly to the left of the pope, with Larry close at his side.

The eyes of the pontiff settled upon Spock with intense interest. "I'm so glad we have this opportunity to speak. Vulcan restrictions have made it impossible for us to send a delegation there. We are currently appealing through the Vulcan Embassy in San Francisco." He paused. "I understand that your father is Ambassador Sarek."

The name lanced at Spock. "Yes," he acknowledged, "but I regret to say that he has little sympathy for the Yanashite Community. The Vulcan government considers us…something of an embarrassment."

"How unfortunate," Augustine said with heartfelt compassion. "It's so difficult when one meets opposition…" And though his words ended there, the silence seemed to infer, _from one's own family._

With a sigh, the pope gently turned the conversation to Spock's background. It became clear from Augustine's questions that he had researched his guest well beyond the public news files. He showed a particular interest in Spock's genealogy, both Vulcan and human. He inquired about Spock's wife and seemed very interested in the health and activities of each of his children.

Eventually the discussion came to James, whom Spock described as "…my son who died of Vash-Lester Disease and was returned to me by Yanash, in perfect health."

There was a faint rustle of fabric as several of the men leaned forward.

Then Augustine said, "It is true then, that you knew Yanash personally?"

"I was indeed honored to know him when he walked upon Vulcan soil," Spock replied, "and I know him still."

The pope smiled with understanding. "Take your time," he said. "Please…if you will, start at the very beginning. Tell us how you came to have such faith. Tell us everything just as it happened, just as you remember it."

Spock raised a slanted eyebrow. He had come with a briefcase of information about Yanash, as well as a carefully worded apologetic for the faith. Yet now he was being asked for his personal testimony. Knowing that it would prove embarrassing, he was tempted to offer an abridged version casting himself in a more favorable light. But truth demanded something better of him.

The pope had chosen the name of a man who lived as a profligate sinner before converting to Christianity. Keeping that in mind, Spock left his briefcase on the floor and said, "The story, as it concerns me, began with my uncle on Vulcan…"

oooOOooo


End file.
